Time After Time
by tobelieveistocreate
Summary: Everyone knows the stories of the Greek Gods, and they know that they're not true. But do they really know them? Or have they been lies passed down? Who are the gods? Where are they? Do they even know?  Gleek Gods verse/Greek Gods Glee AU. Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: The is Greek (possibly some Roman) mythology and Glee crossover. All the characters in this story are Glee characters at present. Even if they don't seem like it, I swear. I might add OC's later on in the story, but just believe me when I say they are the Glee characters. Things are going to be confusing in this story for a little bit, but it will eventually make sense. I just wanted to give a fore-warning so no one would get mad, and say this wasn't about Kurt, or Klaine, or Glee. It's also rated M, because I'm not sure how much smut I'll put in it. I'm not opposed to it though, if it suits the story. Anyway, this note has been long enough. I hope you like it.**

**** Oh, and I'm not putting a list of character correlations here, in case anyone wants to leave it a mystery for now. There is a list of them on my tumblr, and you can always ask me on there. I will answer. Love.**

* * *

><p><em>"I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only,<em> _You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return, I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone, I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again, I am to see to it that I do not lose you." - Walt Whitman_

* * *

><p>1901<p>

Coop hurried across the wet-slicked cobblestone, shivering unhappily as he slipped his hand into his overcoat, taking out the chain within to peek at his watch. Damn. He only had twenty minutes left to make it up to Piccadilly, and he was nowhere near that chaos pit despite the bustle around him. He absolutely loathed walking; everything was so much easier when he had a chariot at his beck and call. And he refused to take that ghastly new invention everyone was calling the Tube. Weaving his way in between the crowds on the street - bloody scamps - he tried to pass through the swarm in front of him and was jostled back, hitting the ground. Despite five years in this city, Coop still wasn't used to the multitude and noise of London. He didn't think he'd ever be used to it. He wouldn't have ever even agreed to live there if it wasn't for Di - Di...

Growling in pain and frustration, Coop regained his footing and plowed through the mess ahead, determined to get to Rora's on time. Rora had appeared yesterday evening, somehow hearing the news, and commanded him over for a meeting with everyone. Hah. Commanded. Who did she think she was? - Not his Queen and certainly not his mum. He wasn't a child that everyone could just command around, despite what they all still seemed to believe. Di had been the only one that hadn't treated him like a fragile, little cherub. Di, gods, he could kill him for yesterday. How dare he go and die trying to be a hero. Who cares if he is immortal - immortal, his arse! It wasn't his job to be the hero running into burning buildings and the like. It never had been! He was supposed to be the drunken lout, leaving the heroics to the mortals as always. But no, Di had to go and grow a blasted conscious on him.

Coop stopped, realizing he would have to pass by the burnt remains of the flats to get to Piccadilly, and he froze, allowing the urchins around him to swarm him again. He had forgotten that the building was on this street. How could he have forgotten? He'd tossed and turned all night without Di beside him, holding him. The bed just wasn't the same without his overbearing presence. Coop had always scolded Di for his overlarge personality and charisma, but now without it... The house just felt empty. The second bedroom had always been decorated, but left empty for show. Because gods forbid two men live together as more than bachelors and mates. But now it wasn't just the spare bedroom. It was everything. The entire house was just bare now, and lonely. He was lonely.

Whimpering miserably, now soaked through from the rain, Coop pulled his coat in tighter around him, wrapping his arms around his body, and continued on downtrodden toward Piccadilly. When he reached the exact place that he knew the flat remains would appear before him, he tried to keep his eyes cast down - not wanting to see, not wanting to remember... But inexorably, as always, he was drawn to Di. Even if Di was no longer there, this was where Coop had last seen him. This place would always draw Coop, regardless of his wishes, until the next cycle at the very least. Finally giving in, he looked up at the blackened, charred mess.

Within seconds Coop's breath was stuttering and his chest rippling with dry sobs that he was forced to stifle. All the tears were gone - had been from the previous night. But the crippling despair that wracked his frame when he saw the remains of yesterday before him was something he could not control, nor push aside. Coop lost track of time, silently standing before the ashes and debris, trying to hold himself together while continually flashing back to bits and pieces of the previous day. He remembered waking up, warm and loved, curled within Di's arms to the feel of Di nibbling on his ear and kissing his way down his neck. He could practically feel the urgent kisses and frantic hands from that morning all over his body, the groans and whimpers echoing in his head, as he remembered their decision to take a slow start that morning and stay in bed for a while. Neither of them having had any place they needed to be that day, something that rarely occurred thanks to Di's insistence on participating in the outside world. They were bloody immortals after all; they should be above the lowly human daily affairs.

But Di had to be different. Always had been. He liked to carouse around just as much as the other immortals, but he had never been vindictive - unlike Hera, Art, and mum. They were just conniving when they wanted to be, which unfortunately for anyone who crossed them, could be often. Di, though...Di was just good. He was over-eager and boisterous, but he wasn't purposefully hateful. He had a temper and could be unpredictable, but never unnecessarily so. He was just better, so much better than the other immortals. Always above the petty, incessant squabbling. Coop couldn't think of a single other immortal - himself included, sadly - who would have run into that fire to help those trapped at the top.

Coop remembered back to later that same day, after they had finally left their flat and meandered down toward the East side of London, seeing the smoke billowing up in thick, dark clouds almost obscuring the otherwise perfect sky. Di had picked up his pace, rushing toward the burning building with Coop hurrying after him. Di had calmed down when he saw the people on the street had taken care of most of the flames around the outer edges, and it looked like everyone had been able to jump down safely to the people and sheets below. The building was unsalvageable though, inescapably being consumed with wave upon wave of fire. Right as Di had been about to leave the crowd be, and finish the afternoon with Coop, a chorus of shouts were heard coming from the top of the building.

There were three young children stuck up there, and their mother was apparently already passed out, most likely dead. Di didn't even hesitate. He vaulted over the people on the ground in his way and started to run for the entrance despite the yells from the crowd behind him. Coop was right on his heel, however, and grabbed his arm trying to stop him. He ordered Di not to go into the building; there was no way he'd make it back out. Somehow after all this time, Di still only saw the good in Coop, but hearing this shocked Di silent for a moment. Coop remembered the last thing Di had said to him was, "Coop, they're just children! They haven't even lived yet. I'm going to live forever!", and shaking his head he burst through the entrance into the fire.

What seemed like hours, but was probably only seconds, passed and then a shout was heard from the top once more. It was Di again. He had reached the top and gotten the attention of the people in the street, before he went and hoisted the children out the window to fall into the waiting sheets of the swarm below. Just as Di was grabbing the third child, there was a huge crack heard from within the building and the roof started to come down. Di threw the boy, and for a second Coop thought everything was going to be fine. Di had had plenty of time to jump from the window. But no, he had to be a stupid, selfish, wonderful git, and he went back for the mother. Why he felt he needed to go back for the woman when she was obviously already gone is beyond reasoning. The stupid prat. The look of determination that crossed Di's face was the last thing visible from the window, because right after Di turned around intent on grabbing the mother, the entire top three floors collapsed, disappearing, and Di along with it.

Gone, just gone.

Everything in that moment was gone.

Vanished.

And Coop's sanity along with it.

Shaking his head, Coop pushed those thoughts away. It's not like he could remember the rest of yesterday anyway. It was all a blur. He vaguely recalled a roaring, though now that he thought about it that sound had probably been coming from him. It had taken Rora and Thena to drag him away from the smoldering ashes and back to the flat before the evening started having any coherency again. They hadn't wanted to leave, saying that he needed them, and all the while they kept looking at him as though they were frightened he would strike out at any moment - like an animal.

Laughing dismally, Coop looked at the ground, blinking his eyes repeatedly to keep them clear. An animal made sense. He felt like a wounded animal, that is when he felt at all. He was just numb. He was numb, and Di was gone. And that's what Coop kept circling back to - nothing else mattered. Nothing else made sense. Coop just couldn't care. Di was gone. Dead. Well, not dead, but as dead as an immortal could be. He was alive somewhere, had never really left the human world. He physically couldn't after all. But he was gone. Dead from this cycle at the very least.

And meanwhile, Coop was still stuck here. Sure Di was still out there, but where, or even who he was...Coop could literally search forever and never find him. And even if he did find him, it's not like it would matter. The age difference from his cycle and Di's new cycle would be too great. He would have to wait for his next cycle and hope that he met Di again, with right circumstances. But that could take centuries, for their cycles to line up again. Coop thought back to his previous cycles, counting back to the last time he and Di's cycles and paired up within distance of each other, and he counted five cycles before this one. It had taken five cycles for them to meet up again and live out their lives. What little of it they had. That was five times that Coop had lived without Di. How was he supposed to do that again?

Frustrated, Coop took out his anger at the inevitable future by kicking the lit oil-lamp post beside him. Gods, that arsehat Zeus was lucky he was already gone from this cycle as well, or he'd save Hera the trouble and kill him anyway for putting them all though this predicament time after time. Centuries and centuries ago, long before the world was what it is today, we were Gods. We ruled with absolute power from the lofty heights of Mount Olympus, and mere humans cowered before us. But now...now we're just like them. Gods trapped in human bodies and human constraints. We might as well BE human. Except, unlike them, we don't get an escape. We have to live out our lives with no end in sight.

When people stopped believing in us, the gods naturally became bored. They wanted to be part of the human world, and the humans weren't allowing us to participate in the same way anymore. So we left Mount Olympus, and Zeus was angered by all of us, and, in a fit, he pettily commanded that to live in the mortal world, we must actually be humans. As none of us could see anything wrong with that, we readily agreed. All the fun of the mortal world, but with the added perks of godly power and immortality. We thought we had the greatest deal possible, and that we had somehow tricked the Fates. What we didn't understand was that by becoming human we were playing right into their wrinkled old hands. None of us realized that despite our immortality, by adapting ourselves for the human world, we were enabling ourselves to die. To be killed. As Gods on Mount Olympus we had been untouchable, above the Fates' petty schemes - at least when it pertained solely to us. But trapped within human constraints, never able to return to Olympus, and an infinite life span, provided much to many opportunities for the Fates to make up for lost time.

A loud crash caused Coop to jump and break his reverie of yesterday, and his past as a whole. Looking around behind him he saw it was just a shopkeeper packing up for the night. He had knocked over one of his crates of ware. Realizing that much of the bustle on the street had drifted elsewhere, and that the sky was darkening ever so quickly, Coop once again pulled his watch from within his jacket to check the time, and swore as he saw that he was over forty-five minutes late. He was surprised that Rora hadn't already sent someone after him; she wasn't exactly known for her patience, but then again the same could be said for any of the immortals. Taking one last glance at the now empty lot, Coop started walking again through East London, trying to pick up his pace to make up for lost time now that the streets were less engaged. He neared the crossroads, still a couple of streets over from Piccadilly, and veered right to head North for Rora's flat - with any luck he'd be there in fifteen minutes.

When he finally reached Piccadilly, much of the crowd that had disappeared on his walk had reappeared in front of him. Expected, obviously, as this was Piccadilly, but a nuisance all the same. Sighing, Coop tried to make his way the final two blocks by politely pushing through the crowd. Twice he was jostled and stumbled into other people, quickly apologizing and moving on. The last time, it had honestly felt more like someone had pushed him, but when he had turned around to look, no one had been there. Just others walking, the same as him. Rora's flat block finally came within sight, and he could see the light from the oil lamps blazing from her window. Coop didn't doubt that they were all up there waiting for him to finally show up. Everyone...everyone that was left anyway.

There weren't many immortals left in this cycle. It was almost disturbing, really. There had been far too many deaths recently, dwindling their numbers here. There had been three in just the past year; it honestly almost seemed deliberate, but the how and why of it Coop couldn't fathom. As much as he wanted to hate the Fates, even he knew that they couldn't take their perverse pleasure in the immortals' misery as far as tampering with lives unnecessarily.

Coop approached the final crossroads between the block that he was on, and Rora's flat block, and he moved through the crowd to get to the edge of the kerb. Before stepping off, Coop tried to peer around the groups of people surrounding him to look down the tramway. With how busy London had gotten in the past few years, the tramcar had been running at all odd hours, and traversing some of the busier streets and crossroads in London could be dangerous. Before Coop could get a clear view of the street, however, there was a movement behind him that distracted him. A deliberate shove came from behind him and to the left forcing him out into the crossroads, barely saving himself from stumbling and smashing his face on the cobblestones and railings. Finally catching his balance, Coop started to look up and over toward the kerb to try and work out what had happened, when from behind he heard an incredibly close rattling and a loud horn.

It happened in a matter of seconds. Coop didn't even have the opportunity to turn around and face the tram, but he knew from the noises what was happening. The impact of the tramcar on his body was agonizing. It felt like his entire right side had been crumpled in from the forward movement of the tram, and the initial hit caused him to be thrown forward slamming his head forcefully into the cobblestones and the railing in front of him. The tramcar was in the process of braking, but as an immediate stop could not be made, a good portion of Coop's lower body was crushed and pinned underneath the weight of the tram as well.

What felt like hours of unbearable pain, only correlated to a handful of seconds. The people in the crowds around the tram went from shock to screaming within that time. Everything was hectic and blurry. Coop could hear the cries and the yelling as if from a distance. He tried to look around but all he could see were great blurs running around, and blood. There was a ton of blood. Everywhere. Coop still hadn't connected that it was his blood. He calmly laid his head back down, closing his eyes to try and dull the throbbing ache in the back of his head. The pain shooting through his head and making his eyes sear was excruciating, but he couldn't feel any pain anywhere else. In fact, now that he thought about it, he was actually incredibly tired. Maybe if he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, the pain in his head would go away. It seemed to be working for everything else.

As Coop started to slip into his oblivion, he was momentarily distracted by two distinct popping sounds and a shimmer of white to his left. Coop knew he should recognize those sounds and the light, but he can't be bothered to think about it. It hurts too much. Out of nowhere he can feel hands grabbing at his face, and fingers prying his eyelids open against his will. Suddenly, there was too much light and movement for his eyes to take in, that the stabbing pain returns full force, and he shudders trying to get away.

"Hold still, Coop," he finally hears filter down from what sounds like a long funnel. "You can't jerk around like that. You're already injured enough as it is. Just keep your eyes open; don't fall asleep. Coop! Don't you dare, gods damn you!"

Hera then. It had to be Hera. No other immortal left in this cycle would damn him while he was dying. Coop tried to focus on keeping his eyes open so he could see her clearly. He was right, it was Hera. And Thena was right behind her. "Good. Ok, good, Coop. Keep your eyes open. Talk to me, focus on something. Athena! Go get the others, quick! We have to figure out something to do. We can't lose Coop again. Not this soon," she shouted at a rapid pace. Thena immediately nodded and stood, closing her eyes for a brief second, before the popping sound happened again followed by the flash of light. And she was gone.

Well, that was nice while it lasted. Coop closed his eyes again, knowing he couldn't keep them open long enough for the others to come back. "Gods DAMNIT, Coop. Don't you leave us. Don't you dare leave me! Coop. Coop! Eros, you get your arse back here now! Don't make me order you. EROS," she screamed, as everything faded to black, the final wail out of her mouth following him for a while, until it was all just nothing. Black. And nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**AUTHOR** **NOTE**: So I had completely planned on this being longer, as in containing more story in the long-term sense, but something happened when I was writing and parts that were supposed to be short turned out incredibly long. Chapter 2 was originally supposed to end with the current cycle, but well, after you read this you will see that it doesn't. But I promise that it will eventually get there, and if I have anything to say about it, it'll be in chapter 3. I really don't like it when my story runs away from me. I feel like I have no control. O_O Anyway. Once again, I hope you enjoy. And like I said, I don't want to spoil the story yet with god correlations, but if anyone hasn't figured it out yet, the people in the cycles so far have been Kurt and Blaine. At least primarily. At the bottom, I'm going to include a note with links to pictures about how they look in these cycles if anyone is interested. Don't kill me.

* * *

><p>Chapter 2<p>

* * *

><p><em>"E'er coming and going - never at rest - E'er struggling for life - is this our behest? E'er fighting hard battles, ever at war - Conditions so hard - is this a just law? Forever and aye no rest for my soul, Struggling e'er on, ne'er reaching my goal. I cannot believe this, thought of in my sleep, For seeming past griefs, I bitterly weep." - Ardelia Cotton Barton<em>

* * *

><p>1967<p>

"But Mommy, why can't I go on the monkey bars? I promise I won't hang upside down like last time. Please, Mommy, I promise," the little boy wheedled in a soft voice.

"No Elijah, you cannot go on the bars over there. They're far too high off the ground for you, and you never play on them properly in the first place," the woman calmly tried to reason with the temperamental boy.

"But Mommy, I promised. Don't you know what promise means? It means I can't break it. You told me that. Pleeeaaassee, Mommy, please can I go?" he continued to whine.

"Elijah James, you promised last time too, and look what happened. You fell and broke your arm. I'd rather not make another trip to Dr. Gibbings so soon. The rest of the mothers on this block gave me dirty glares for a week because of you. As if it was my fault you tried to swing upside down off the jungle gym, when I had repeatedly told you not to do that anymore. So, no. The answer is no," she answered in a firm tone.

"Fine," Elijah huffed, and plopped down into the sandbox in front of his mother. He angrily kicked the sand beside him and crossed his tiny arms across his chest.

Looking up at the kids running and screaming around him, Elijah picked at his shorts, fidgeting nervously. Everyone else was playing with each other and having fun, and he was just sitting there. None of the other boys ever wanted to play with him, and the girls always wanted to sit around and play with their paper dolls. He didn't want to play with stupid dolls; he wanted to hang from the monkey bars, because the world always looked so much funnier upside down.

But his Mommy wouldn't let him. She wouldn't let him do anything fun. All because he was too young. It wasn't fair. Jimmy Pacar from down the street was only one year older, and his mom let him play all day at the park. No one ever told him he couldn't hang upside down from the monkey bars. Elijah couldn't wait till he turned five as well. Then no one could tell him what to do. He could hang upside down all day till he got that funny feeling in his head like last time. Elijah looked down at his right arm at the thought, remembering how everything had gotten fuzzy and his stomach had felt tingly. He'd started giggling uncontrollably at the feeling, when his Mommy had noticed and started toward him to stop him. She had looked so funny, all blurry and weird, that Elijah had started laughing even harder, losing the grip his legs had on the bar and falling to the ground with a loud thud.

There was so much pressure and a rushing feeling in his head, that Elijah didn't even notice his arm or the crack it had made when he fell. But his Mom had aped out, crying and making him get in the car. She made him go to Dr. Gibbings, the man who always stuck things in his arm and then tried to make up for it with a piece of hard candy. The man wasn't fooling anyone with his stupid candy. Elijah hated him. He remembered Dr. Gibbings reprimanding him for playing so recklessly, before he asked him what color he wanted for a plaster on his arm. Elijah had scoffed at the choices the doctor had given him. Both the green and pink were icky, but his Mom wouldn't let him get white because it would get dirty. Long-sufferingly, Elijah sighed, looking down at the bright pink plaster on his arm. It made him so mad. He couldn't even play on the bars if his Mommy had let him. He couldn't do anything with it, and no one wanted to play with the kid in a plaster.

Elijah sighed, leaning his face into his other hand, and stared at nothing in particular. Out of nowhere an Indian-like war yell was heard to his right. Elijah whipped around and saw a taller, curly-haired boy he hadn't seen before, running by - moving his hand over his mouth repeatedly - with a crowd of little boys following after him. Pouting, Elijah realized they were playing Cowboys and Indians. And no one had asked him if he had wanted to play - like usual. No one wanted to play games with a kid that only had one good arm. He'd had no one to play with for weeks now, even less than he normally did.

Elijah watched the boy dart around the merry-go-round and in between the slide and swings, leading the boys on a mad chase, barely staying ahead of them because of his laughter. The boy took a running jump, swinging up onto the monkey bars in front of him, and then he hefted his weight up on to the top of the bars, climbing up and staring down between the bars at the boys below him. All the boys he had been playing with were younger than him and couldn't reach the bars above them. And apparently they weren't smart enough to realize they could climb up the sides of the bars to get to the top. Elijah rolled his eyes, annoyed.

The boy sat there grinning and laughing continuously at the struggle below. He kept sticking his tongue out and waggling his fingers at them, teasing them and trying to make them mad. Elijah giggle at this from the sandbox, deciding that if the boys were too stupid to climb up, they didn't deserve to play with the boy. The boy heard him laughing at their antics and looked over at Elijah, meeting his eyes for a second before cracking a smile, and holding a finger up to his lips to keep him quiet.

The boy turned back to those below him, continuing his teasing until they grew tired and left. The boy sat back on the bars pleased with himself and grabbed the bar next to him, flipping himself over to wrap his knees around it, and then swinging his body down with his arms thrown out to catch the wind from the movement. He stayed like that, using his legs to keep his body swinging back and forth, letting his arms hang and closing his eyes, enjoying the moment. Just like Elijah liked to do.

Elijah glared jealously at the boy. Why did everyone else get to do what they wanted, while he always had to sit next to his Mom, because he was too little. It just wasn't fair. Elijah turned his head around, peeking hesitantly at his Mom who was reading on the bench. He knew he shouldn't...but he couldn't help himself.

"Mommy..." he said hesitantly.

"What is it, Elijah?" his mother asked without looking up.

"That boy is hanging from the bars like I like to, but no one is yelling at him to stop. Why is he allowed to do it, but I can't?" Elijah pouted.

"Elijah, he's much older than you, too. You're only four, and you already have a broken arm from playing rough. I'm sure if he was younger with a plaster on as well, someone would be stopping him from doing it. I'm not keeping you from it to be mean, Elías. You're just too little. He's at least old enough to be here by himself." his mother sighed.

"So...does that mean when I get the plaster off I can go on them again?" Elijah asked hopefully.

"No -"

"Please, Mommy, please! It's my favorite! I swear, I won't fall off again. And I'll be older too. Can I? Can I, please? Please Momm-" Elijah slurred out, hurriedly.

"Elías, yo no estoy diciendo otra vez. La respuesta es no. Es demasiado peligroso. Detente. Sólo jugar en la arena; construir un castillo," his mother rapidly retorted.

Uh-oh. His Mommy yelled at him in Spanish. Elijah turned back around to face the sand mound in front of him, hanging his head in disappointment and guilt. He knew he shouldn't have asked, that she would get upset. But he couldn't help it. Everything else was always so boring. The monkey bars were the one thing he could do by himself, and didn't have to wait on anyone else to play with him. He could just play alone. And it was fun. Unlike the stupid sandbox.

Elijah dejectedly reached for the shovel buried in the sandbox, and set about to filling the bucket off to the side. If his Mommy wanted him to make a castle, he guessed he could make a castle. Before long Elijah had three blocky towers standing up in front of him, and he was so busy trying to connect them together that he didn't notice the screaming coming his way as the group of boys from earlier ran through the sandbox in a game of chase, toppling over all of Elijah's work. Elijah stared in shock as the multiple feet trampled the sand again and again. But...he had worked so hard on it...and it had been for his Mom.

Infuriated that none of the other boys had even apologized, Elijah jumped up with a bucket full of sand and slung it at one of them. The boys always had to ruin everything. They already made him play by himself, and now they took that away as well. Crying in anger, he kept grabbing handfuls of sand and chucking it at them. He hated them. Just as Elijah heard his mother start to tell him to stop from behind him, the boy he had thrown the bucket of sand at in the first place came up from out of nowhere, running at him and shoving him back into the sandbox where he tripped over the sides of it, falling down in a heap. At this point his mother was no longer on the bench with her book, but was immediately at Elijah's side helping him sit up and brushing the sand that was stuck to the tears on his face. She didn't even pay any attention to the boys standing there watching them, because she was too busy checking Elijah's arm and trying to soothe his crying.

"Oh, shut it, ya dirty Chicano," Elijah heard the other boy say right before he felt his mother stiffen. "You shouldn't even exist. How dare you throw sand at us like you have the right. I could get you in so much trouble for that, you know? It's not like anyone cares what happens to you, anyway, so you can stop crying. I bet that's why your Daddy's always drunk and angry all the time. Why you're always in old clothing, and you never get anything new to play with like the rest of us. You're Daddy doesn't even care about you. He's ashamed of you - the abomination that you are - just like the rest of us. You-"

"That's enough," his mother growled through her teeth at them. Standing up, holding Elijah on her hip, she took a step toward them, and all but the boy who had spoken stepped back in unconscious fear. The boy, Hank, just sneered at his mother though.

"You can't do anything," he laughed. "You put one finger on me, and my mom will have the cops called on you almost as fast as you can make an enchilada."

"Well, then," his mother said calmly, "I suggest you boys had better get going then, hadn't you? Wouldn't want to test that theory of yours, especially considering I don't know how to make an enchilada. Might take a while, and you might not be happy with the outcome."

The boy stopped for a second, trying to work out what she had said, before glaring at her and stomping away in a huff. His mother looked down at Elijah, who had continued to cry throughout this exchange, not sure what was going on, and unconsciously rocked her son against her. She went to sit on the bench with Elijah, shushing him in an effort to comfort him while putting his head on her shoulder and rubbing his back.

"Ma-mom-my?" Elijah gasped through tears.

"Yes, Elías, baby, what is it?" his mother asked sadly.

"What did that mean? What he called me. What did it mean?" Elijah cried, while taking his head of his mother's shoulder to look at her. He brought his left arm up to wipe his eyes and nose on his sleeve.

His mother sighed defeatedly. "They called you a Chicano, Elías. And...it's not a nice name. You are not a Chicano, not that there is anything wrong with being one. I want to make that perfectly clear," she said.

Elijah nodded to show her he had heard her, and waited for her to keep going.

Shaking her head, his mother continued, saying, "Chicano is a term that some people use for Latinos, and it's not usually meant in a good manner, Elías. You know how your Mommy is from Spain, hmm?"

Elijah nodded. "Well, that means I'm not from this country, and so when people see me they automatically see a foreigner. A lot of people see my skin tone, and hear me speak Spanish, and think I'm Latino. I'm not, but they don't bother to ask. The way people in this country treat Latinos is deplorable anyway. But that's another story. The point, Elías, is that I want you to know that you are not what they say you are, okay? You are not a Chicano. You're white...just, maybe not as "white" as them. You got a little color to your skin, which is a good thing, if you ask me," she laughed, pinching his cheek. "You're going to grow up into a heartbreaker, I can already tell."

Elijah tried to pull his cheek away from his mom, pretending that he didn't enjoy the attention. He was still puzzling over the word "foreigner." It sounded _weird_. Why anyone would make a word like that, he would never understand. Realizing something, he looked back up at his mom, and said, "But Mommy, what's a Latino?"

Closing her eyes and laughing softly, his mother then looked down at him, and said, "I forgot you wouldn't know that. Don't worry about it, Elías. That type of distinction isn't really important. People are just people. The rest doesn't matter. Sadly, you'll find out what Latino means, and why people use words like "Chicano" someday from the world. But not today. And not from me."

Elijah stayed up on his mother's lap for a time, talking and playing games with her, while she would occasionally sneak her hands toward his tummy to tickle him. After a while, Elijah looked over to the toppled mess in the sand box, frowning. He had been so far along, building the castle. Maybe his Mom would let them stay a little longer and he could try building it again. Just as Elijah was considering getting up and going back to the sandbox, his mother called his attention back.

" Elías," she said hesitantly. Elijah looked back around at her, curious as to what she had to say. "About what else that boy said...about your father. It...it wasn't true, Elías. Never think that, alright? That's not...It's...Your father has some problems. That is true, but...they are _his_ problems. Not yours. And your father loves you, okay? He could never be ashamed of you. You're perfect, Elías. And I know he doesn't always show it, but he loves you. I promise...I..."

"It's okay, Mommy, you don't have to-" he started.

"Yes, I do, Elías. Because no one deserves to be told that no one cares about them. It's just not true. You know that, right?" she asked.

Elijah paused, twisting his bottom lip between his teeth, before he decided all he could really say was...

"...yes."

It wasn't really a lie, so he couldn't get into trouble. He knew his Mommy loved him. Whether or not his Daddy did, he still wasn't sure. If he did, then he loved him a lot different than his Mommy. Daddy always yelled at him, and he always got in trouble for things that Mommy didn't care about him doing. And Daddy never took him to the park, or did anything with him really. It just confused him.

Elijah's mother poked him on the nose, breaking him out of his thoughts. "Why don't you go play in the sand some more. We still have a little time left, and I saw you looking that way earlier," she smiled.

Elijah nodded, hopping off her lap and running for the sandbox. He looked disgustingly down at the mess. There was no hope in saving it. He would have to start over. He sighed, and used his foot to level the sand before sitting back down with the bucket and shovel to start again. When he was a tower and a half in, Elijah felt someone come up behind him, and a shadow fell over that side of the sandbox.

Flinching away, Elijah waited to be hit or shoved again, thinking it was the boy, Hank, from earlier. After a sigh came from behind him, Elijah heard movement, and a foot came into view followed by a body that slowly sank down into the sand next to him.

It was the boy from the monkey bars. The one Elijah had watched jealously from behind the merry-go-round and the sand towers he had built. Why he was over here when he could be on the bars still, Elijah couldn't figure out. Didn't this boy know how much he wished he could be on them himself?

The boy looked at him, meeting Elijah's dark brown eyes with his own bright green ones, before silently picking up another bucket and filling it with sand. He didn't say anything to him, just packed the sand in, flipped it over next to the other towers, and started over again. Elijah sat there puzzled. Why was he helping him? Looking around, he saw the other kids still playing in groups together, none of them noticing him or the boy. But that wasn't unusual. No one noticed him...except the boy. Why was he playing with _him_? When he could play with any other kid on the playground.

Elijah just sat there and fidgeted some more, not sure what to do. Was he supposed to just pretend that this was normal? Was he supposed to talk to the boy? Elijah was so unsure of himself.

"Are you just going to sit there and play with your shoelaces all day, kid?" the boy asked amused. "I thought sand-castle building could be a joint activity, but if you'd rather do it yourself, I can leave." He looked over at Elijah, suppressing a smile.

"N-n-no, no don't do that-_-_" Elijah blurted out, shaking his head back and forth rapidly.

"Well, alright then," he chuckled, leaning forward with the next bucket of sand to add more to the castle.

Biting his lip, Elijah reached for the shovel that was now on the other side of the boy. Before he could get to it, the boy picked it up and passed it to him without looking up. When Elijah didn't do anything, he looked over at him, smiling softly and presenting him with the shovel again.

"You can take the shovel, kid. I'm not going to bite. If anything, I'd be more scared of the spider you're sitting next to right now, than me," he said, exasperatingly.

"WHAT? Where, what..." Elijah screamed, flipping around searching the sand around him, trying to catch his breath to calm down. When he looked back around at the boy, he saw him silently shaking with laughter.

"That's - that's not funny!" Elijah shouted at him crossly. "You're mean!" He sat back in his spot, crossing his arms and glaring at the castle.

"Aww, come on, now. I was just trying to get you to calm down. You were practically freaking yourself out. I saw all the thoughts you were speeding through. Plain as day one your face. You know, you're not very good at hiding that. No pokerface, whatsoever. You should probably work on that," he said seriously.

"What?" Elijah asked, confused again.

"Nothing, kid," the boy said, laughing once more.

Why did the boy find everything so funny? Elijah wasn't even telling any jokes. It didn't make any sense. Maybe he just wasn't that smart. Not that Elijah was going to point this out to the boy. His Mommy had always taught him to keep thoughts like that to himself. _If you don't have anything nice to say Elías_, _don't say anything at all._ The number of times he had gotten in trouble for not doing that, were far too many.

"So..." the boy said, after several more minutes had passed. "Are you going to tell me your name or continue to ignore me? I mean, I'm fine either way, but I'm sure your mother would be a lot more comfortable if I wasn't just some stranger helping you build a sand castle. That would be a little awkward."

Silence.

"Right..." the boy said. "Well, I'm Joseph, since one of us has to cross the line first, and it apparently isn't going to be you, kid."

"Stop calling me that! I'm not a kid!" Elijah pouted. "I'm four and a half!"

"Oh, alright then," Joseph grinned. "You're right. That's _much_ too old for me to be calling you a kid. I can't exactly call you anything else without a name though."

"Elijah," he said, grudgingly.

"Elijah, huh?" Joseph said, thoughtfully. "Mind if I call you Eli?"

Elijah shook his head. "Good, you can call me Joe then. Most people do. I can't think of a person besides my mother who actually still calls me Joseph," he said, once again grinning. Did the boy ever stop? Was he ever unhappy? Elijah had basically glared at Joe for this entire conversation, but it didn't faze him. His Mom usually told him he scared people when he gave them that look. Why wasn't it working on Joe?

"Elijah's a good name, though," he continued on the with the stilted conversation. " You'll go far with that name. You can be anything you want to be. More so than say with a name like Hank," he finished, looking slyly over at Elijah.

Elijah looked up, meeting Joe's eyes once more, wondering what he was talking about. Joe must have sensed his question, because he chuckled to himself once more before turning himself in the sand to face Elijah.

"I saw what happened earlier, Eli," he spoke. "I'm sorry about that by the way. When I chased them off from me, I didn't realize that they would eventually go over to you. You didn't deserve that."

"It wasn't a big deal," Elijah said, softly.

"Yes, it was. Don't pretend it wasn't. No one likes a bully. And what he said was over the line. Someday, someone is going to stand up to him. And he'll know how it feels. Until then, just keep your chin tucked, and never let him sneak up on you, okay?" Joe spoke over Elijah.

The rest of the afternoon seemed to pass in a flash, Elijah and Joe continuing in a comfortable silence. At one point they both had to stand up and move to the other side of the sandbox as their castle now took up the entire middle.

"Why haven't you been at the playground before?" Elijah finally asked. "I come here every day."

"Really?" Joe asked, looking over at Elijah. "Well, I wish I could do that. Summer just started Eli; I've had school before now. And my Pa doesn't need me in the shop yet. So here I am."

"You work with your Pa?" Elijah asked, curiously.

"Yeah, Eli," Joe chuckled. "If my Pa let me slack during the summer at fifteen, I'd be worried. He;d have to be sick or something."

"You're fiteen!" Elijah crowed. "That's so old!"

"Thanks, Eli," Joe tilted his head smiling. "Being called old be a four-year-old is new."

"I'm four and a half," Elijah reminded. "But...what are you doing at the playground if you're fifteen? Why aren't you with your friends?"

"Well, I'm hurt," Joseph said, in an affected voice. "I thought we were friends. But if I'm mistaken, I can gladly take my sand castle building skills elsewhere." He made to stand up.

"No, that's not what I meant," Elijah said, giggling. "I just meant-"

"I know what you meant," Joe interrupted, pleased that he had gotten Elijah to laugh. "I don't know. I've just always liked the playgrounds. I can pretend I'm little again. But this time around I get to swing on the monkey bars however I want without my Mom yelling at me."

"Your Mom yelled at you too!" Elijah asked excited.

"Of course!" Joe said. "It's what they're supposed to do. They wouldn't be mothers if they didn't stop us from doing that. Is that how you got the plaster?"

"Yes," Elijah sighed, depressed again as he looked down at it.

"I like it. Makes you look tough. Plus the color is totally groovy," Joe winked at him.

Elijah visibly brightened. If someone like Joe thought it was groovy, then Elijah did too. He had always secretly liked the pink, but he wasn't supposed to.

"I'm glad you're finally smiling again," Joe commented. "The face you were giving me earlier was incredibly sad."

"Sad!" Elijah exclaimed. "I was angry with you!"

"It sure didn't look like anger. You looked like someone had kicked your puppy!" Joe said between laughs.

Elijah went back to pouting again while trying to glare at Joe.

"Oh, see!" Joe pointed. "There's the sad look again. If that's supposed to be anger you need to work on it more. Go back to the smiles they suit you better."

"No!"

"Hmm, we'll see about that," he said, as he suddenly lunged across the sandbox attacking Elijah's stomach with his hands. Joe continued tickling Elijah, stealing huge peals of laughter from the boy, until Elijah was gasping for breath and begging him to stop.

"Ok, ok!" he chocked. "I give up! I'll smile! Please, stop, it hurts!"

Joe sat back grinning, watching while Elijah picked himself up trying to brush the sand off of his shirt. Looking up, Joe saw Elijah's mother, Karina, looking over the top of her book, smiling faintly at them. Joe waved jauntily, and she smiled wider nodding at him.

"You have sand all over you," Elijah said disgusted, bringing Joe's attention back to him.

"Oh, do I?" Joe asked sarcastically. "Well, look at that, now you do too," he finished, taking a handful of sand and playfully throwing sand at the front of Elijah's shirt.

"I just wiped that off!" he frowned, brushing it off again.

Joe started grinning mischievously, slowly reaching behind him for more sand when Elijah wasn't looking. His hand flashed out of nowhere, throwing the sand Elijah's front again. Elijah stopped, looking down at his shirt in shock.

"That's it!" he yelled. "I'm gonna get you!"

"Only if you can catch me," Joe said quickly, before darting off in a game of chase.

Joe ran all out, attempting to wear Elijah out for the day, finally taking pity on him and letting him catch him twice. As Elijah was still running around happily, Joe was getting ready to start his next turn when a soft jingle music was head coming down the street.

Joe looked over at Elijah excitedly to see if he had heard it, and the look of longing on his face showed that he had.

"Come on, Eli!" he blurted. "Let's go get ice cream."

"No, it's fine," Elijah said, calmly. "I don't have any money for it."

"Eli," Joe frowned at him. "I'll pay. It's not a big deal. Come on!"

He grabbed Elijah's hand, running at a slower pace for him toward the street.

Elijah broke away giggling, turning the mad dash into a race.

Joe played along with him, pretending to work extremely hard at keeping up with Elijah.

Elijah picked up a burst of speed, leaping out into the road without looking across the street to see if it was safe.

A horn blast was heard throughout the park.

Joe looked up to see a tank truck screeching it's brakes, barreling down on Elijah, and dove into the street toward him.

Joe grabbed Elijah under the armpits, hoisting up and throwing him for the grass on the other side of the road, only feeling bad about his arm for a second. Before Joe could get his footing under him to run for the other side as well, the tanker hit him, knocking his head against the steel front frame, and throwing him to the side.

He hit the ground with a thud, lying motionless.

By the time the tank truck had passed and stopped on the side of the road, Karina had dashed over to her son, picking up off the ground to check for injuries. With the exception of a busted lips and some scrapes, he was fine. She tried to get him to stay away from the other side of the road, but Elijah insisted on seeing Joseph.

After finally getting around his mother, he made a run for the sidewalk were Joe had been thrown. Elijah stumbled up to him, not expecting to see anything but a smiling Joe.

Instead he saw Joseph limply lying on the ground with blood seeping from his head, and his head bent at an odd angle. Elijah stood there, staring, ignoring his mother's attempts to get his attention and pry him away from the sidewalk.

Time passed, and sirens were heard coming down the road. Elijah remembered people in white uniforms coming in between him and Joe, blocking his view. And when they were finally moving away again, Joe had disappeared. They had taken Joe with them, but Elijah turned around to watch them, not seeing Joe anywhere. All he saw was a black bag that they placed in the back of the car. That didn't make any sense. They couldn't just make Joe disappear. Didn't they know he needed help?

Elijah looked back at the sidewalk to make sure the blood he had seen had been in his imagination. His Mommy always told him he had too much of that. But no, the blood was still there. So then where did Joe go?

"Mommy?" Elijah said, not realizing until that moment he was crying.

"Y-y-yes, Elías?" she said, softly.

"What did they do with Joe? He just disappeared. Is he gonna be alright?" he asked one question after another.

Karina started sobbing openly at this point not able to hold it together even for her son's sake. How did she explain this Elías?

"They took Joe with them," she finally said. "That's why he's not here anymore."

"Yeah, but is he gonna be okay?" Elijah asked again, this time frantically, when he noticed his Mom had not answered that question.

Closing her eyes briefly, she opened them up again and plastered on a huge smile.

"Of course, he is Elías," she said brightly. "He'll be just fine. They'll took good care of him. He's in the right place now."

As Karina packed up her things, and picked Elijah up, heading for the car, Elijah realized something.

Something that he would have rather not known.

That was the first time his mother had lied to him.

The first time Elijah had seen right through what she said.

She had knowingly lied to him.

Which meant Joe wasn't going to be fine.

He was gone.

Elijah's first friend.

Was gone.

* * *

><p><strong>NOTE:<strong> From the last chapter -

Coop - Jonathon Rhys Meyers

Di - Ben Whishaw

Elijah (when he grows up, obviously) - Felix Gomez

Joseph - Adam Lamberg

I had more, but I didn't get that much in the story. I would have been perfectly fine making the chapter longer, but I felt I had kept you guys waiting long enough for chapter 2. So, sorry again for the wait. And sorry for all the author's notes.

**And sorry for all the submits. The formatting on this messed up badly. And it wouldn't let me include the links for the pictures. I'll put them on tumblr.


	3. Chapter 3

**NOTE**

So, this didn't end at the current cycle either. *throws up hand* I'm just going to stop trying to inform you when it happens, because apparently my brain doesn't like to cooperate with whatever I say. I have this entire part planned out, but I guess my brain didn't realize how long it would take to get there. All I can promise is SOON. Incredibly soon. Like I'm literally near to the part where it gets to the current cycle, but it had been a while since I updated, and this was getting long, and it was only half-way there chapter-wise. So fingers crossed for next chapter. I'm starting to piss myself off. Anyway. Sorry for the long update delay, but I've had crazy work at school lately, and I will this week too, so I'll update as soon as I can. Sorry for the long author's note too. LOVE!

* * *

><p><em>"What good was past life if nothing was wrought? Grand lessons in past should I have been taught. The future what boots it, living e'er on, If past hath not helped me, battles been won." <em>- Ardelia Cotton Barton

* * *

><p>1989<p>

* * *

><p>The sirens continued to get louder, snapping Elijah out of his head and back into the scene before him. Accidents like these always made him think of that day. About how his life had continued as if nothing had happened. Of how the park never quite looked the same. Or how the angle of his neck had been -<p>

Stop. Stop thinking about it. Time spent on it now, wouldn't change anything. Better to just forget. Easier to just forget.

Funny, wasn't that just the family motto? When something hurts too much, or when something didn't fit into their "perfect" life, then they just forgot it. It's what he'd always been taught. The one lesson his father had ever bothered to impart on him, besides how to take a punch, of course. No wonder forgetting was so easy for Elijah. It's all he'd ever done.

Blinking out at the mess of cars on the street in front of him, Elijah noticed the buckled Oldsmobile turned in the middle with smoke coming from the hood. He hoped the ambulance was able to fight through the traffic soon, with the mechanical levers to pry the doors off; otherwise, there was no way the people inside were getting out in time for medical attention.

Elijah didn't have much time left to get to work, but he couldn't just walk by without checking everything out. Car accidents were his one weak spot. The one thing he couldn't ignore and pretend he didn't care about. It's what made him so suited for New York City. One of many reason why he had moved across the country all those years ago. No one gave a shit here. And that worked for him.

But things like this...maybe it was the stupid, innocent, little boy in him still, but he couldn't just walk by it. Looking around, Elijah saw a blue Buick near his side of the street up ahead with an older man trying to unbuckle his seat belt to get out.

Hurrying over to him, he forced the jammed door open, before reaching inside to tug on the belt as well. After several minutes, the belt snapped out, releasing the pressure on the man's chest, enabling him to breathe again. After the man's breath had returned, Elijah reached into the car to help lift his weak frame up, trying to keep him stable as he straightened up.

When Elijah first came into view, the old man stiffened, looking up at him. He hadn't even stood up all the way, barely hanging onto the car for balance, but he had enough strength to push Elijah off of him while shouting.

"Get your filthy hands off of me, you faggot!" he yelled, practically frothing at the mouth. "I don't need you touching me. Who knows where your hands have been! I don't want to catch your gay AIDs."

Elijah stepped back from the man, keeping a blank face, and nodding curtly.

"Sorry, sir," he said, mechanically. "Didn't mean to offend. I thought I was helping."

"Yeah, well I don't need help from the likes of you," he glared. "It's more dangerous having you touch me than it is staying in that car for a couple more minutes."

But Elijah was already turned, and walking away from him before he had even finished his sentence. He didn't have to stand there and listen to that nonsense. The same nonsense that just about every straight person was whispering about in fear.

It's not like it was anything new for him though. Now people shouted "faggot" at him, whereas before it had been "Chicano." If he was really lucky, though, he might even get both in the same breath. Those moments were special. Truly.

Some things never changed. People's irrational fear and hatred was definitely one of them. Yes, he was gay. Unlike before when people had hurled racial slurs of the wrong race at him...But it's not like they had bothered to check. It's not like he wore a sign around his neck that said, "I like dick. Please come comment about it." People always jumped to conclusions, never caring who they trampled over in the process.

Sighing, Elijah turned the corner shivering and tightening his coat against the winter chill. He really needed to get a heavier coat, because the weather was only going to get worse. Shaking his head, he wrapped his arms tightly around his body, and picked up his pace toward Saints. As if he ever had the money for things like that. The coat he was wearing now was three years old as it was. He was tired of living hand to mouth. Of always being hungry or cold. Granted he probably should have worn more clothing, but it was easier to get changed at work if he had lighter things on. It saved him money on laundry as well.

Rubbing his hands together in front of his mouth for warmth, he ran across another intersection barely missing being clipped by a bike messenger. A plastic-sounding horn came from behind, and Elijah flipped the biker the bird without even looking back. It really had been far too long living like this. He'd been in New York, barely staying alive since the age of sixteen. Since his father had kicked him out at the age of sixteen. It had only taken the bastard two years after his mother's death before he had packed Elijah's bags for him.

Not that Elijah had cared. The beatings that had started shortly after Karina had left home to find work, had only gotten worse over the years. Elijah liked to pretend that his mother didn't know. It made it easier to direct all of his hatred at his father. But she had to have known. What explanation could she have given herself when she came back late from the diner every night? How did she reason away the bruises and the bloody hand-towels?

She couldn't have. There was no reasoning that away. But, let's not forget. The house was full of actors. The family motto was ignore or forget, after all. And Daniel beating the living shit out of Elijah a couple of times a week wasn't something to bring up in polite conversation.

Twisting his mouth into a grimace, he remembered his father's reaction to the announcement that he was gay - like incredibly gay. It hadn't been a pretty sight to see. Elijah hadn't gone to school the next week. In fact, he hadn't even left the house at all.

When his mother died months later, the beatings became almost unbearable. He was surprised he had even survived them. Two years of them.

It had been his sixteenth birthday when he came home from school, he'd found his father waiting for him with all of his clothes thrown into shabby bags in the front yard. His father had shoved a twenty in his hand and told him to get the hell out of his house. He was a "man" now, if it could be called that. It was legal for him to kick Elijah out if it was reported that he had been displaying "unmanageable behavior" - which apparently, according to Daniel, being gay qualified - and if he had proof that he'd provided clothing and $20. Of course that was the reason his father had given him the money. It would never be because of any concern for Elijah's well-being at all.

Hitch-hiking across the country in the early spring isn't something that Elijah would ever suggest. There were many a time that he had spent the night curled up on a bench in the park or at a rest stop. Anywhere really, that looked half-way safe after dark. After his father had kicked him out, there was no point staying in that small ass town. He'd had no friends to tie him there, and it's not like his teacher's had ever noticed him or cared. They'd certainly managed to keep their mouths shut if they had. It couldn't come as a surprise to anyone that he would drop out of school and leave, once they heard the news that he had been kicked out of the house. There was just nothing to stay for.

The whole town knew he was gay, and had never made a secret of how they felt about it. It wasn't an unpleasant place to grow up. If you were normal. And had a good family. And didn't care about the world outside of cars and beer and republican presidents. So basically, if you weren't Elijah.

That night, after he had grabbed his bags and left the front yard, had been one of the worst. There were still far too many to come, but Elijah remembered being cold and alone. He had had no idea what to do or where to go. And he was beyond upset because his father had refused to let him go inside and grab the picture of his mother in his room.

He had ended up in that park. The one from all those years ago. His mother had tried to continue their routine afterward, but after one or two times, gave up. It just wasn't the same. Elijah still always saw blood on the sidewalk when he looked down. The park honestly looked like it belonged to the ghosts that night. It was ironically fitting. The swings rocked back and forth from the wind, making creaking sounds, but the rest of the park was covered in a dead silence. Elijah had immediately gone to the monkey bars, setting down his bags and climbing to the top. He had lain back and stared up above at the stars. They were all so small and insignificant. And alone. Like him.

Being back at this park - even now with Elijah just thinking about the park - had some sort of pull on him. He couldn't understand it. Why Joseph should still haunt him didn't make any sense. He had only known him for a few hours. And sure, he had saved his life, and the scene afterward was probably traumatic for a fear-year-old, but after all the things Elijah had been through, why was it this specific thing that still made him hurt?

Elijah shook his head, trying to forget the past once more as he entered in the back door of Saints. Elijah didn't want to think of Joe. Apparently everything brought him back to that memory for some reason. A random car crash...thoughts of his life at sixteen and that last visit to the park...heck, even someone always being happy and grinning had brought it all back once. It was like at the drop of a dime, it could happen. Elijah never knew when to expect it or what. And he still couldn't figure out why. Why Joe? Why did it matter to him so much, when nothing else ever seemed to?

It had to be that at age four, Elijah had already considered Joe a friend. The lack of time he had known Joe hadn't mattered to that little boy. Joe had been his friend. His first friend. His only friend. The first person, and Elijah found out later what was to be the last person, besides his mother, who ever gave a damn about him or what happened to him.

Elijah took off his gloves and scarf, placing them inside his jacket which he hung on the peg next to the door. He went to his desk, sitting down in front of the lit mirror. He looked up, staring at his reflection.

He honestly didn't recognize himself. He wasn't the scared little boy who had hid in the basement whenever his father was drunk anymore. Nor was he the sixteen-year-old who had contemplated the meaning of life on the top of the monkey bars before making life-altering decisions. He wasn't the boy who had hailed semis to get to New York City, or the boy who had finally gotten here with wonder in his eyes. He was also no longer the boy who had learned that life didn't change with a zip code change. People still didn't care, and life was going to be just as hard for him here as it had been before. He was none of these things. He had been at one point, but they were far gone from him, barely traceable to what he saw in the mirror before him. When Elijah looked in the mirror, he didn't know what he saw. He didn't know who he was. A man by now, yes. But he couldn't tell anything else about himself, because he hadn't really felt anything else about himself in a long time.

"Elijah," a shout was heard from behind him. "Get changed. You're up in fifteen minutes."

Elijah nodded to acknowledge that he had heard. He reached into the rack behind his desk to grab his uniform, and went into the back to change. Coming back out, he sat in front of his mirror again, trying to forced himself to see something. Anything. But, nothing. As his time dwindled, and Elijah still failed to see something meaningful in the mirror, he forced himself to focus on completely his daily routine. Which funnily enough, involved even more disappearing on his part.

Elijah focused on this, pushing himself deeper and deeper inside himself, refusing to let any of himself out tonight. It was the only way he could make it through most days at work. If he pretended it was someone else, not him. If he pretended he wasn't really there, then it was almost like he wasn't. It was like he was numb, floating. He could see everything, but it wasn't really him.

"Elijah, you're up!" the shout came again, snapping his eyes open.

Taking a final deep breath, Elijah closed his eyes once more and sank completely within himself. When he reopened them, there was nothing in the mirror to see. Not even the questions he had seen in his eyes from before were there. There was just nothing. But even more than nothing. There was a blankness. He calmly stood up from his desk, and turned around, ready for another evening at work. He walked to the connecting entrance of the front and back of the building, and waited for his cue to step out. When it was time, he naturally made the movement, without hesitation or steeling himself, as if it didn't matter, nothing mattered.

* * *

><p>"I cannot believe you did that!" Dylan fumed as he hurried up the street block, trying to place some distance between himself and the dark-haired woman behind him, running to keep up. "You're unbelievable, sometimes, you know that?"<p>

"All I wanted was a relaxing drink, Her- Helen," he corrected, quickly looking around at those passing. "Just one drink, and now I can't even have that. You just - I - gahhh!"

Dylan threw his hands up for a lack of words, and increased his pace even more in hopes of losing her.

"Please, don't call me that," she wrinkled her nose. "You know how much I hate that name."

"Well, it _is_ your name," Dylan said snidely. He didn't care if he was coming off childish; he was pissed.

"Besides, it's not as if I can realistically call you Hera in public," he finished on a whisper. "If you hadn't noticed, that name hasn't exactly remained in style as of late."

"Di, I understand you're upset," Hera said, returning his glare upon the use of that name. "Oh, calm down! I said 'Di,' didn't I? No one knows what it stands for, you paranoid baby. For all they know it's short for Dylan. So don't get your nards in a bunch."

Dylan shot her another glare, expressing his discontent with her as a whole, that was increasing with every sentence coming out of her mouth.

"Now, as I was saying, I..." she trailed off upon noticing the withering look that Dylan was directing her way.

Sighing, she closed her mouth, letting her shoulders droop in dismay.

"I just worry about you, Di" she finally said, looking hesitantly up at him. "What you're doing isn't healthy."

"Oh, and I suppose a random one-night stand is _so_ much healthier for me, is it Hera?" he threw out sarcastically, immediately regretting his tone when he saw her flinch and fold her body inward once more.

"Look, Her, I appreciate what you're doing, I really do. But stop trying to get me laid. It's not what I want. It's not _who_ I want. At all. You know this."

"But, Di, he's not _here_," she said exasperatedly. "Coop isn't here this cycle. He wasn't with us when the rite was performed. That's it, okay? It's over this cycle. I don't know what you hope to gain from all of this."

"Nothing, Hera," he shouted, throwing his hands up in the air. "_Everything_. Don't you get it? It doesn't matter what I gain from this, if I gain anything at all!"

"He's out there somewhere. He was in Southern California when he was a kid, that much I know. I was right next to him in my last cycle, Hera, _right next to him_. And I didn't even know."

"How can I...how can I have not _known_," he whispered brokenly.

"Hindsight is always clearer," she tried to say comfortingly. "It wasn't your fault, Di. Neither you nor Coop were fortunate enough to be around the rest of us for that cycle's rite. It's happened before to all of us - multiple times for some of us."

"I know," Dylan agreed. "It just seems to happen to Coop and I far more than it should."

"Looking back at all my cycles - now that I can remember them - there have been so many times that I didn't know who Coop was...that I didn't even know who _I was_."

"I know," Hera said resentfully. "Yet another wonderful perk of living in the human world. Really, I don't know why we didn't do it sooner."

Dylan laughed bitterly, "Yes, because it's been so much fun."

They continued walking in silence side by side now.

"So, you're serious then?" Hera finally asked, breaking the heaviness. "You're really going to go back there and try to find him?"

"I don't see what else I _can_ do," Dylan replied evenly.

"I'd hoped that he would subconsciously need to move to a big city. It's where we always ended up together after all. But I've been in New York for two years, Her, and I haven't found him. I've got to try something."

"Di, you...you do realize that even if you do find him, he's not going to know who you are," she said hesitantly. "He's not going to remember you or anything before his current cycle."

"Yes," he responded after a moment, resigned. "I'm aware. But even if he doesn't know..._I know_."

"_I remember_. He's still Coop, Her. Elijah is _still_ Coop. And all I know about him is that he was a sweet little boy, and that may not be a lot, but it's enough. I know who he was that day, and I know who he is deep inside where Coop is hidden."

"And I may _never_ get him back - the Coop that I know. But he'll still always be Coop for me. Regardless of whether he remembers or not. I'll spend the rest of this cycle trying to get him to love me if that's what he needs. I'll do what I have to do. It doesn't matter to me. He does. Nothing else."

"Gods," she said sniffling. "You two always were like this. Once you got over yourselves and got together that is. Why do you two have to be so devoted and determined? You always make the rest of us look bad."

"Cripes, Hera," Dylan said chuckling. "You make us sound sickeningly perfect. You've seen us at our worst; you should know better than that."

"That would be because you are perfect," she said as if it should be obvious.

"No, we are not," he continued, full out laughing now. "Don't pretend that you don't remember what Coop gets like when he's angry or hurt. He's a full on bitch, and you know it. Even he knows it, and owns it, honestly. He's bitchy, superior, judgmental, uptig-"

"And you love him," Hera finished smirking.

"Well, yes," Dylan rolled his eyes. "I never said I didn't. That still doesn't change that he _is_ all those things. And don't even get me started on myself. We're far from perfect, Hera."

"If you say so," Hera supplied, humoring him. "But the fact is, I was talking about you two together, not separately. I'm well aware of all your flaws, Di."

Dylan shrugged his shoulders, making a noncommittal noise in answer.

"And that's what scares me, Di," Hear picked the earlier conversation back up, much to Dylan's annoyance. "If you do find him, you'll be so focused on him and your attempts to recreate what you guys had, that you'll sacrifice your own happiness, and, quite possibly, health this cycle on something that may never happen. I just don't want to see you waste it all."

"And that's the part you don't get, Hera," Dylan made sure to answer calmly, realizing not for the first time, that Hera didn't understand. That she might never know why he had to do this, because she had never had what Coop and he had.

Her relationship, if you could call it that, with Zeus was a joke. Part of Dylan felt sympathy for her for not having that type of love, but the rest of him secretly resented her for the calm and ease with which she was able to live a cycle without Zeus.

"It's never be a waste. _Ever_..."

"Gods, I could really use that drink now," he said pointedly, scrubbing his hands tiredly over his face.

"Well, whose fault is that?" Hera asked waspishly. "You're the one that ran out of there, and refused to go back. Come on, if we turn around now we can be there in twenty minutes."

"Whose fault? Hera, do you really want to be asking that," he said looking sideways at her. "If I seem to recall, I ran out of there because a boy who couldn't be too far past puberty had basically thrown himself at me. And at _your_ encouragement!"

"If I had wanted to get laid, it wouldn't have been that hard for me to so, and it certainly wouldn't have been with a _boy_. I'm surprised that after all this time, you still have no clue as to what my type is."

"Or do you just think that I'm so desperate, I wouldn't notice?" Dylan said shaking his head. "No, we're not going back to that bar after you forced me to humiliate that poor kid. Look, there's a bar up the road. See, where those flashing lights are?"

"You mean the cockroach infested dive over there?" Hera said disdainfully. "No, we're not going in there. You cannot make me go in there."

"Oh, Her, stop being a snob," Dylan chuckled. "It's not that bad. It's just a bar. Not every place we get a drink from has to be an upscale restaurant or a night club."

"I don't see what's wrong with that," Hera sniffed. "At least they're _clean_."

"You are not going to die from going in there," Dylan sighed, looking sideways at her. "What is this really about? It cannot honestly be about the _cleanliness_ of a _bar_."

"S a rrp pup," Hera mumbled under her breath, sneering her nose and crossing her arms indignantly over her chest.

"A what?" Dylan shook with laughter. "Hera, what just came out of your mouth was not English. Or any language for that matter. You don't even have alcohol as an excuse. What is the problem?"

"It's a strip club!" Hera huffed in exasperation. "It's a gay strip club!"

"Hera...this isn't news," Dylan said, raising his eyebrow at her.

"What?" Hera blurted, looking up at him quickly. "You already knew?"

"Of course, I knew, Hera..." Dylan paused, wondering where this conversation was going. "The sign clearly says _Saints_...I really don't know how anyone could miss that. And I honestly don't know how you could think I wouldn't know what Saints is after living in New York for two years..."

"Though how you knew, I have no clue...I'm actually disappointed. I was looking forward to seeing your face when you find out," he finished, laughing lightly once again, and shrugging his shoulders away when she swatted him.

"B-b-but if you knew, then why were you insisting we go there," Hera stuttered.

"Because it's the closest place that serves alcohol?" Dylan stated the obvious. "I thought that that was what we were in search of after all."

"Well y-ye-yes, b-but-" Hera continued to stutter.

"Hera, are you seriously going to stand there, stuttering and blushing like a school girl?" Dylan asked amused. "You're twenty-six years old. You're acting as if you've never seen a penis."

"SHUT UP, Di!" Hera yelled, looking surreptitiously around them at those passing who had turned when Dylan had said "penis."

"Oh my gods, Hera," Dylan bent over with laughter. "You're not honestly that bothered by cock, are you? I mean, I know for a fact you're not a chaste-"

He broke off gulping down breaths through his laughter at the scrunched up glare Hera was giving him.

"No, that is not it," Hera emphasized each word with a smack to the back of Dylan's head. "But thank you so much for your delicacy, Di. Really? Cock? Could you be more crude? Don't answer that!"

"Well, then what is it?" Dylan asked, wiping the tears from his eyes, trying to calm his breathing.

"You may not need to get laid, but that doesn't mean the rest of want to live habitually as monks!" Hera finally spit out in frustration.

Dylan chocked on his laughter, coughing all the remaining air in his lungs out. He looked up, his eyes bigger than saucers, at the tiny woman in front of him radiating with embarrassment and aggravation.

"What?" Hera snapped, churlishly.

"Nothing," Dylan said emphatically, trying to keep his face straight. "I still don't see how this has anything to do with going into Saints..."

"Di," Hera said looking at him like he was incredibly slow child. "You don't understand why going into a club where partially naked, handsome, young men, who are all _gay_, will be dancing suggestively all around us would be a problem for my...my...frustration? It just means I once again will be going home alone!"

"I...You...Okay," Dylan said searching for words. "I hadn't thought of that...I didn't realize it had been so long since...yeah...um...I thought Poseidon had tried to...uh...well...what I mean to say is-"

"I wasn't interested," Hera took pity on Dylan, who was shifting and scratching his neck uncomfortably, and cut him off. "Poseidon _tries to_, as you phrased it, every month or so, and funnily enough never succeeds. You'd think he'd get a hint."

"Well, I mean, there's probably only three more dancers for the night," Dylan said checking his watch. "After that, the floor should open up completely for dancing. You wouldn't really have to endure too much-"

"How do you know when they stop the strip show?" Hera asked bemused.

"Well, I don't," Dylan squirmed nervously. "I'm just guessing from normal time standards in clubs like these. Not that I would know what those are either!"

"Uh-huh," Hera said watching him closely. "Fine. Whatever, we'll go in and grab some drinks. Maybe dance some. But I'm blaming you if this doesn't turn out well."

She turned and left Dylan behind, heading across the street toward Saints, forcing Dylan to scramble and jog to catch up to her before she went inside.

They entered the club together, passing the bouncer after numerous questioning looks were thrown Hera's way. The place was crowded, with lights bouncing everywhere and techno pulse music pounding through the speakers. The words to the song were exactly distinct from this far back, but the general theme to the music was incredibly sexual.

Dylan could see a red-haired dancer up on stage awkwardly gyrating in front of various men holding dollars out in the air. Dylan shook his head in dismay. The kid couldn't be barely more than eighteen. He was a child! Granted he was only twenty-one, but that didn't really count for everything. Not when you had been alive for forever. Seeing boys up on the stage wasn't what he had come in here expecting. Though why he should be surprised, he didn't know.

That was the way things went, wasn't it? Especially in this decade. Gay men were kicked out of their homes all the time, because of the stigma that went along with confession. Men. Boys, really. And when your own family won't accept you for what you are, how can you expect the world to? And the world didn't. It just kicked them while they were already down. Jobs like these were sometimes the only things these boys could gain. And they had to take what they could get to survive. It was just incredibly sad to see. Even worse was to see the complete lack of concern or unease with these situations the men crowded around the stage had.

Shaking his head, he grabbed Hera, who had become distracted by all the lasers and movement around her, dragging her by the arm toward the bar.

"Helen," he shouted over the noise, switching back to her current name now that they were in an easily overheard area. "What do you want to drink?"

"Just get me a gin and tonic," she said, dazed, staring around in fixation.

Dylan ordered the drinks, bobbing his head and tapping his hand on the bar to the beat of the music while he waited. There was lull in the music, which meant a change in performer, and then the music that came on made Dylan smile. He still couldn't quite hear the words to the song, but he knew the song well enough to recognize it by the beat. If he thought the previous song had had a sexual theme to it, then this one was just dripping with sex. He hoped whoever was dancing to it was considerably better and more comfortable than the boy who had just left. Whoever it was would need to be able to pull off blatant sex appeal and lust, otherwise the song would be a complete waste.

The bartender handed him his beer and Hera's gin and tonic after he had handed him the five dollar bill. Damn, prices of alcohol. He turned around toward Hera, and attempted to hand her her drink.

When she didn't take it, he looked up. She was still staring in fascination at something in the club near the stage.

Laughing to himself, he poked her to try and get her attention. But she just continued to stare.

"Helen!" He shouted, trying to be heard over the crowd. "I know this place is distracting, but at least wait until you're tipsy to blatantly stare."

Nothing.

"Helen, I have you're drink!" he said agitated. "Helen, Hel- oh for the love of- HERA!"

She turned as if someone had electrocuted her, blinking up at Dylan with the biggest eyes he had ever seen.

"What?" he asked confused. "Did you change your mind? We can leav-"

"Shut up, Di," she said quickly.

"Wha-" Dylan started indignantly.

"Shut up, and look up at the stage!" she said, trying to force him around toward the dancer.

Dylan turned his head, rolling his eyes at Hera's fascination with the dancers. They were just dancing in less clothing than the rest of the people in the club.

He eyes finally reached the stage, and took in what was up there. The dancer had just come out and started to the song that Dylan had heard playing a few seconds ago. His head was turned to the other side of the club looking down at the men before him, reaching down for the bills being thrown at him.

Dylan still hadn't managed to see his face, but from what he could see, the club had picked the right dancer for the song. His hips swiveled to the beat, and you could feel the lust pouring off his body, and by connection all the men salivating around him.

Dylan didn't get it. Yes, he was a fantastic dancer, and his body was sleek and toned. But why was Hera so insistent on him looking up at him? He looked back over at Hera in confusion to see her looking at him expectantly. When she saw his confusion she rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Seriously, Di?" she huffed. "You are _so_ blind sometimes."

She gripped his head and turned it back around toward the dancer. At that exact moment, the man on the stage turned around toward the men at the front of the stage continuing his dancing, and turning his head completely forward, lifting his eyes up for a split second.

In that split second, his eyes met Dylan's, and time froze. A second multiplied into hours. Or so it seemed. The contact ended almost as soon as it had started. And the dancers blank eyes left Dylan's once more continuing on their circuit through the club, before he looked back down at the men throwing all his effort into pretending to be into what his body was doing.

The beer and the glass holding the gin and tonic in Dylan's hands dropped from his grip, falling slowly toward the ground. The impact echoed in Dylan's ears never fully leaving, and the movement at his feet could be felt throughout his body. The glass from both shattered and spread out across the floor in front of him.

There was movement from the people around him as people leapt away from the glass and from him. They seemed to be moving in slow motion, barely moving inch by inch, when really they must have jumped quickly for them to have avoided the glass shattering on the floor. Dylan heard a squeak come from next to him. It must have been Hera. Dylan didn't know. He couldn't register anything that wasn't right in front of him. Hell, he could barely register what was in front of him.

It was Coop.

Elijah.

It was him.

* * *

><p><strong>NOTE<strong>

I mentioned in the last one that Elijah looked like the actor Felix Gomez. Well, Dylan looks like the actor Hugh Dancy. I have an image for Hera, too, but I don't know if you guys would want it or not.

Thanks again for all of you reading this! I love you all, and I wasn't expecting this. Let me know what you think! Reviews are love.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author Note:**

Ahhhhh! It's December! I was up all of last night finishing NaNo, but I won! I'm so excited. Sorry, I had to flail there for a moment. Okay. So regarding this chapter, it very obviously does not end at the current cycle either as you'll notice after you finish it, and I apologize for that again. Sort of. It could have ended at the current cycle, because I was still writing. But I looked at his portion and realized it was already longer than any of the other chapters, and the end of this just really made me giggle. A lot. So I figured if the last ending frustrated you, then this one certainly would. Yes, I am getting far too much enjoyment out of your frustration. C'est la vie. Anyway, this note has been incredibly long enough already, so I'm ending it. Hope you enjoy, and thank you too all my regular readers! Especially my regular reviewers! I love you all so much.

* * *

><p>Chapter 4<p>

* * *

><p>Still 1989<p>

* * *

><p><em>"Whether I live and love, or love and die, I care not: either way I understand...For I, I also, shall come again."<em>- Aleister Crowley

* * *

><p><em>Feels so good being bad<br>Oh oh oh oh oh  
>There's no way I'm turning back<br>Oh oh oh oh oh  
>Now the pain is my pleasure cause nothing could measure<br>Oh oh oh oh oh_

The music continued to play through the speakers as Dylan stood there in shock. Hera's voice was indistinct, trying to pierce through the veil, to his left, but he couldn't distinguish any of the squeaks and garbles apart from each other.

Ignoring her completely, he left her there with the broken remains of their drinks on the floor, alcohol seeping out making the floor slick and sticky, and pushed his way through the crowd, forcing himself closer to the stage.

_Love is great, love is fine  
>Oh oh oh oh oh<br>Out the box, outta line  
>Oh oh oh oh oh<br>The affliction of the feeling leaves me wanting more  
>Oh oh oh oh oh<em>

Dylan's eyes remained fixed on Elijah's movements, following him around the stage as he did things with his hips that should be illegal, and movements with his legs that surely couldn't be possible. No one could be _that_ flexible.

_'Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it  
>Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it<br>Sticks and stones may break my bones  
>But chains and whips excite me<em>

Elijah continued around the stage in this manner, playing to the crowd, and directing all the lust being thrown his way back outward. The music faded from Dylan's ears as he finally made his way to the front of the stage, pushing between two disgustingly drunken middle-aged men. It was a good thing Elijah was the last act for the night. Anyone following after him wouldn't have been able to compete, or keep the level of energy, that Elijah was inspiring from the crowd, going.

Dylan continued to watch in awe as Elijah danced to the song, not even registering anything but the jerks and rolls of his body, and the circles and dips he made at certain moments. He knew he shouldn't be turned on by this. He had seen Elijah's eyes after all. He knew that deep inside there somewhere, Elijah was hiding, allowing his body to do what it needed to do to make money.

This should have some impact on Dylan. And to a certain extent, it did, but apparently not enough. Damn it. Dylan tried to think of anything else, focusing on what this meant for Elijah's life, if he was working here. Anything that would kill the arousal growing inside him with each swivel and grind Elijah's hips made. But all he could think about were the times that Coop's hips had done that against his, under his.

No.

Think of something.

Anything.

He started to think of the last time he had seen Elijah, the only time he had seen him. As the innocent, little boy at the playground. But he had to stop himself, slamming that out of his head. That just felt wrong now. Dirty. He couldn't think of that Elijah while drooling over the one in front of him. The entire time Dylan was fighting over this in his head, Elijah had continued dancing, now moving closer to some of the men at the side, doing extreme movements up close to gain more money from them.

A surge of jealousy shot through Dylan. It was irrational, he knew that. But it still didn't stop it from happening. It's not like this meant anything to Elijah. And he technically didn't have a claim over him, but Dylan's emotions had always been like that. Uncontrollable. Wild. Extreme.

Dylan gritted his teeth trying to move on from the seething mess inside of him. He attempted to convince himself that punching those men repeatedly in the face wouldn't be in the best interest of Elijah or himself. More satisfying, yes. But not helpful.

As all these conflicting emotions crossed through him, in the matter of seconds, Elijah made his way back up near the front of the stage making eye contact with Dylan. There was a flicker in Elijah's eyes. Dylan wasn't sure if it was an unconscious recognition, or whether he had been able to read the emotions and thoughts that Dylan was so sure were clearly written all over his face.

But whatever it was, it seemed to bring a new life to his eyes and by connection, his movements, if only for that second. Not breaking eye contact, Elijah danced his way up to Dylan's area, rolling his hips and lightly singing along with the music.

Of course, he was singing. Dylan hadn't noticed before, but seeing this made him smile slightly. It made sense that Coop wouldn't be able to resist. And it was just another way to distract himself from the crowd.

_Oh, I love the feeling you bring to me  
>Oh, you turn me on<br>It's exactly what I've been yearning for  
>Give it to me strong<br>And meet me in my boudoir  
>Make my body say ah, ah, ah<br>I like it, like it_

During the course of this, Elijah had gotten incredibly close to Dylan without knowing it and had never taken his eyes away from him. He seemed to be singing directly at Dylan, even if he hadn't realized it. As Elijah started his routine for the final part of the song, he seemed to startle himself, realizing what he had been doing, and subtly flinched back, breaking the eye contact. He made sure to move away from the center stage, avoiding it as he went around again.

_'Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it  
>Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it<br>Sticks and stones may break my bones  
>But chains and whips excite me <em>

The song trailed off with Elijah finishing his routine, making his way back to the pole in the middle of center stage with his back turned as he waited for the second and final song of his set.

When the music started, Dylan groaned, recognizing the song once again and already knowing no matter what Elijah did on the stage, it wasn't going to help him stop thinking about him inappropriately. Elijah waited until the words started before turning his body, gripping the pole and swinging around with his leg wrapped closely against the pole. He ground his hips on it, arching his back and throwing his head, before letting go of the pole and strutting his body forward, completely owning the stage, as he surely did every night.

Dylan smiled to himself. He really was treating this like it was a concert or a show, and not the strip tease it was. It's probably how he managed to survive them intact. If he pretended that this was him singing or acting, then it wasn't really him dancing sexually for men that threw money at him.

_So hot out the box  
>Can we pick up the pace<br>Turn it up, heat it up  
>I need to be entertained<br>Push the limit, are you with it?  
>Baby, don't be afraid<br>I'mma hurt you real good, baby_

_Let's go, it's my show, baby, do what I say  
>Don't trip off the glitz that I'm gonna display<br>I told you, I'mma hold ya down until you're amazed  
>Give it to ya till you're screaming my name<em>

Elijah seemed to have forgotten the incident from earlier. Either that or he just didn't care, as he made his way back to the edge of center stage where Dylan was, again. Looking down at him he rolled his hips far more than he should have in front of him, softly singing. The emphasis he put behind each word and movement was enough to make Dylan want to jump the stage.

_No escaping when I start  
>Once I'm in, I own your heart<br>There's no way to ring the alarm  
>So hold on until it's over<em>

_Oh!  
>Do you know what you got into?<br>Can you handle what I'm 'bout to do?  
>'Cause it's about to get rough for you<br>I'm here for your entertainment_

On the last line, Elijah cocked his head to the side and lifted his arms in an arrogant shrug, as if he himself recognized the irony and truth in those words. Dylan loved it. His cocky little bitch was in there somewhere. Even if he was hiding.

"Innocent, little boy, huh?" a shell-shocked, squeaky voice came from right behind him.

Dylan turned his head away from the stage, momentarily distracted.

"Uh...yeah," Dylan chuckled awkwardly, coughing behind his hand to clear his throat, as he looked back up toward the stage.

"Well...apparently that didn't last for long. Some things have...certainly changed. I don't know what happened, but there's no mistaking it."

"That's definitely Coop. Elijah. Even if I didn't recognize his eyes as the same ones the little boy had, there's no mistaking the lust pouring off of him. He's practically feeding off it. That's not natural. No one but Eros could pull that off. It's Coop. No matter what cycle he was in, Coop always kept that natural eroticism that he was born with."

_Oh, I bet you thought that I was soft and sweet  
>You thought an angel swept you off your feet<br>Well I'm about to turn up the heat  
>I'm here for your entertainment<em>

_Woah  
>Do you like what you see?<br>Woah  
>Let me entertain you till you scream<em>

He finished the song, softly fading in the background, as he slowly brought his body back up from the bend he'd made, making one final turn on the pole his gaze lingering on Dylan for one last moment, before shaking his head in inward chastisement, and stalking off the stage toward the back much to the disappointment of the men surrounding the stage. Ignoring the groans and angry, drunken mumbles, Elijah lifted his arm to wipe the sweat from his neck and face before lifting the curtain and disappearing behind it.

The momentary void that was left behind was practically tangible. It was like he had pumped the club completely full of lust and hormones that could be felt and breathed in, dripping from the air, and then he had sucked it back out within seconds when he left, leaving an empty nothingness.

Only it was worse, because everyone had felt what had been there before. It ached. Dylan ached for Elijah. And not just in the physical, as everyone else in the club was experiencing, though that was present as well. He wanted to see him. Away from the stage. He wanted to see _him_. Not the person he pretended to be when everyone was watching.

Dylan tried to follow Elijah to the back, pushing his way through the crowd with Hera trailing on his heels, to get around to the side door of the main floor next to the stage. As he got within distance of the door, finally breaking out of the crowd that was now taking over the previously bare dance floor with electronic pop music filtering out from the speakers, one of the men manning the bar had apparently noticed his direction and stepped away from his station to block Dylan's path.

"You can't go back there," he heard an unexpectedly thin voice come from the solid brick towering in front of him.

"You don't understand," Dylan attempted, leaning around him to see the door barely a few feet in front of him. "I just need to speak to him. I just need to-"

"Look, _you_ don't understand," the man continued. "Do you really think you're the first person to try and worm their way back there? Do you really think you're the first person _tonight_ to try and get back there? Or that no one else has tried the whole, 'No, I just really want to speak to him,' approach? I honestly couldn't give a fuck why you need to get back there. You're going to have to wait like the rest of them."

"But I just need to speak to Elijah," Dylan threw out when the man started to walk away with an air of finality. "It's incredibly important. I-"

"How do you know his name?" the man turned around suddenly suspicious. The performers on stage never actually used their real name. Not anymore at least. Years before they had when the bar had just started out. But that had led to problems. Some of the best dancers had gotten unwanted, and sometimes even threatening, phone calls. One had had to deal with issues involving an obsessive stalker, and one had even been beaten up pretty badly when he'd gotten home after work one night.

After that incident, Saints had taken huge steps to try and protect the dancers from things like these; one of the policies stemming from this, being the anonymity of the performers. Elijah was actually the first boy they had hired after they had made this change. He certainly wasn't a boy anymore, but Steve still saw the frail seventeen-year-old who had come in and faked his records to try and get a job. The boy who had cowered and tried to run when he and Jim had called him out on this.

It had taken years to get Elijah to trust them. But he finally did. Or at least Steve thought he did. They had reassured Elijah that he wasn't in trouble, and that, if he needed the job that badly, they would hire him, but god, it was always such a hard thing to see. Someone as young and innocent - though he would scoff if you ever told him that - as Elijah being thrown into that world. Steve shook his head, turning back around fully and staring down at the man and woman in front of him.

He always took his job of protecting the men seriously. They might be grown men - most of them, anyway - and they might be what most considered strippers. But they were still unbelievably fragile, when they thought no one was looking.

But there was something about Elijah specifically that always scared Steve. He cared about all the boys, but for the most part they could take care of themselves, or were easily protected. Elijah didn't want any help from any of them. He wouldn't take it. Even though something told Steve he needed it far more than anyone else in the bar.

Most of the boys were young. Not that Elijah was old, but he just wasn't the untarnished, naive boy he had been nine years ago. The young ones - they'd be here for a couple years. Maybe more. However long they needed to get on their feet, and then they would leave, as well they should. Jim and Steve never had any hard feelings about this. They knew it was a fact of the business, and they never lacked for replacements.

In fact, they did everything they could to make sure the eventual move out of this building happened for all their dancers. It's one of the things that made this the most sought after bar in New York specializing in this line of work. Most times you couldn't trust the people you worked for anymore than you could trust the people you danced for in the end.

But Saints was different. It's the only reason Steve could sleep at night after hiring people in Elijah's situation. He comforted himself knowing that no one else was going to take pity and help what basically amounted to children - the young that everyone liked to overlook and pretend didn't exist because it offended their "delicate sensibilities." And he wasn't going to keep them here for forever.

Well, except for Elijah, it seemed. There were only two dancers older than Elijah, and Steve could accept them being here. He hadn't started them off in this line of work. They had come to Jim and him from the other clubs, begging for work. They were past the point of getting out and starting over. They weren't jaded necessarily, just able to countenance it better. As far as he knew, they weren't overly bitter over their lot; they had long ago accepted it.

They weren't actively pursuing a way out, and Steve didn't have a problem with that, because they weren't letting it ruin their life like Elijah was doing. They were still out living relatively normal lives when not on the clock. They weren't secretly an emotional wreck like Steve had for a long time suspected Elijah of being.

Elijah pretended that everything was fine, and, in fact, became overly cheery and defensive when anyone questioned his facade. But he didn't have a life. Not really. Not one that didn't center around Saints. He went through the motions pretending he did. Heck, he'd even been in a relationship with this sweet kid from Jersey, named Bryan. He'd moved in with him last year, much to the surprise of everyone that knew him.

Steve felt so much sympathy for Bryan, and he wanted to hate Elijah for what he was doing to that kid, but he didn't think he could. After seeing Elijah change so much over the past nine years, he just couldn't do it. Steve was appalled by the things he knew Elijah had been through, and he couldn't even begin to fathom the things he was still hiding. And if he were being honest, he didn't want to. He didn't want to know. Not when it came right down to it.

Bryan would do anything for Elijah. And when they had first started the mess that their so-called relationship is now, Steve had thought it was exactly what Elijah had needed. Foolishly, quite possibly. But at the time, it had seemed like such a good idea, and a much needed step in the right direction. Someone to care about him. For him. Something he had not experienced too much of in his life.

He'd watched carefully, knowing he shouldn't let his hopes rise, but not being able to stop them anyway. After three years together, there was still no change. Well, no, that wasn't entirely true. The fact was that Elijah had retreated even further into himself. Steve felt that Elijah might as well have been in a walking coma. It seemed like he never felt anything, or let anyone affect him. Good or bad.

And after so many years like this, Elijah didn't even see any need to worry about his behavior. He was completely comfortable in his numb separation. He was only ever uncomfortable when someone tried to overstep his carefully constructed walls and break down his boundaries. It was scary sometimes, how adamantly he guarded those walls, like a kid that guards the house he built from Legos, or the castle he made out of sand. He wasn't immature about it exactly. At least not usually. He was just like a dog with a bone. He never stopped. He never trusted anyone long enough to relax, so letting his walls down was never an option.

It was unhealthy. He was unhealthy. For Bryan. For himself. He had Bryan wrapped around his finger, and the poor kid didn't even see that Elijah wasn't involved in the relationship, whatsoever. He didn't have any prior experience to base it off of, so he thought this was normal. The poor kid never stood a chance.

And the more Elijah pretended to care for Bryan, the more he himself disappeared. And he was helpless to stop it. But he refused to allow anything else to happen to Elijah that would cause what little bit of him was left to vanish. There wasn't much he could do, if he were being honest. He couldn't legitimately interfere with Elijah's relationship with Bryan, as that could cause even worse problems that no one wanted to deal with, most of all him.

And he couldn't force Elijah to reappear, as much as he wanted to be able to just snap his fingers and make everything better. But forcing Elijah into anything, would just make it worse, and Steve feared that more than anything. So there was really nothing within his power that he could do to fix everything. But he could damn well make sure that no one else caused Elijah pain or more numbness. Whatever you wanted to call it.

He would do everything he could to protect him. Sometimes Steve laughed over this, realizing, perhaps somewhat pathetically, that this had become more his job than anything else. It was far more important to him than anything else. Even more than Saints, the bar that Jim and he had worked their fingers to the bone and scraped by for years to create. His baby.

Steve's thoughts rushed back to him, as his mind raced through every memory and connection he had with Elijah. And there were a lot of them after nine years. His mind finally calmed and settled on this point. Steve stepped closer to the pair in front of him, looking intensely down at them, as he repeated his question with even more authority dripping from his voice.

"How do you know his name?"

The man and woman in front of him looked at each other hesitantly which just raised his suspicions further.

"Well, I...I know what this probably seems like," the boy rushed out. "But I swear it's not that. I'm...I'm a friend. He...well, I guess he might not remember me, but I _am_ a friend."

"Elijah doesn't have friends," the man said coldly. "I know. I've known him for nine years."

When he said this, they boy in front of him flinched and looked like he had been stricken with a skillet or electrocuted or something. Apparently the news that Elijah didn't have friends didn't sit well with him. Either that, or it was the information that Elijah had been here for nine years. Whichever. Steve didn't know. Both were equally disturbing.

If this bothered him, maybe he wasn't a threat to be eliminated after all. He still didn't trust him. He couldn't afford to, after all. But he might have a minute to spare to find out what the boy wanted now.

"Look, kid," the bartender relented. "I don't know why you're here, but I can't just let you go back there, no matter what your intentions might be, okay? I'm not even sure I should let you stay, yet or not."

"My name's Dylan," he said slightly disgruntled by the use of "kid." Though he supposed he deserved that, he thought wryly. "And, I swear, I'm not here to cause trouble. I just need to speak with Eli. I can wait out here if you feel more comfortable with that, but I just can't risk him leaving before I can talk to him. I-"

"Okay, okay, kid, calm down," Steve chuckled, trying to get a word in edge-wise, as Dylan basically ran over him, bursting forth with everything he wanted to say. "You can stay out here, ki-Dylan. Elijah usually comes out to grab a drink before he leaves anyway."

"I'm Steve, by the way," he added as he went to walk back behind the bar. "And I'll be watching from over here. So don't even think about making a break for that door. Cause then you really aren't staying. Understand?"

Dylan nodded emphatically, and moved for the bar to take a seat to where he could easily see the back entrance to behind the stage from his spot. Hera as usual trailed after him, biting her lip, unsure what she should do in this situation.

"Oh, and before I forget," Steve said, once more turning around for a second before going back to his employees behind the bar. "Just a word of advice, don't call him Eli. Or Elías. Either one. He'll rip your face off. Which normally might be entertaining, but you seem like a nice kid. I felt obligated to warn you. I have no idea why, but he's demolished men before you who've tried, so just don't do it."

Dylan's eyes widened in realization, because unlike Steve, he _knew_ why Elijah would have issues with people calling him by those names.

Depressed with this new knowledge, Dylan sank down onto the stool next to him and turned to Hera to find her staring worryingly at him.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Dylan asked momentarily distracted.

"What do you mean 'why am I looking at you like that'?" Hera shouted exasperatedly. "Did you not just see what I did? Did you not hear the same things I heard? How can you ask me why I would be worried? Plus, once you add in the fact that you just had a look on your face that made it seem like someone told you glitter body paint and hairspray had been made illegal, it isn't any wonder that I would worry about you!"

"Glitter body paint, Hera? Really?" Dylan asked, somewhat amused.

"What?" Hera snapped. "Don't pretend you don't have a secret stash of it hidden in the hall closet that you like to get out and play around with when you think I'm not home. It's alarming the rate with which you go through it. Did you really think I hadn't noticed the jars in there every time I go in there to get out my coat?"

"What do you use that stuff for anyway? No, really, I want to know. I don't understand what you could possibly use it for. I mean, I know you like shiny things, and all that, but just, what gives Di?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Hera," Dylan said blinking owlishly at her and shifting uncomfortably under her gaze. He then turned away from her to situate himself back at the bar so he could see the door.

"Uh-huh," Hera muttered, rolling her eyes at Dylan's usual avoidance of things that made him uncomfortable. It wasn't like she was suggesting anything by asking about the glitter. She was just honestly curious. There were only so many things he could make with the glitter, and she hadn't seen any evidence of him using it.

When Dylan looked up toward the door he almost yelped, and jumped off the stool, because at some point when he'd been talking to Hera, Elijah had come out into the main room.

He looked so much better now that he was away from the stage. He was dressed in everyday clothing. Or at least what Dylan assumed to be everyday clothing. It certainly wasn't what he'd been wearing earlier. Now that he was out on the main floor he had on just a pair of what most would take as "work day" jeans, and a thin t-shirt with a button over shirt. Nice, sturdy clothing, if a little worn.

What worried him the most about them was the fact that they did seem worn to the point of almost being threadbare. That surely wasn't enough for him to wear in the cold weather they'd had lately, and Dylan looked at Elijah's hands hoping to see a coat of some sort. Something to make him feel more comfortable with the situation. The only thing he could see, however, was an equally worn jean jacket, that was probably suitable for a light wind, but was incredibly ill-used for the winds outside.

Dylan started to get up to go over toward him, before he took in the fact that he was already talking to someone near the bar, and sat back down. They were incredibly close as well, much too close for Dylan's liking.

Well, he supposed he could wait until Elijah had finished whatever conversation he was having with the man, though why they needed to be that close during it, he still didn't understand. Fine. He was being childish, probably. But he didn't care. He didn't like it. At all.

Dylan attempted to watch them discreetly from across the bar, tensing up every time the space between them diminished even more. Just as he didn't think he was going to be able to control himself any longer and was going to end up doing something that was going to get him in trouble both with the bar and with Elijah, he noticed the man invading the last piece of Elijah's personal space to grab his arm, and he saw Elijah immediately flinch and jerk back, trying to get away.

Dylan didn't even stop to think. He immediately burst up from his chair, leaving a shocked Hera behind him, and he shoved through the people in between him and Elijah. He came up behind the man almost silently somehow, and immediately ripped him away from Elijah, not even bothering to find out what had been going on. Dylan didn't need to know. If Elijah didn't want him touching him, then he wasn't going to. Plain and simple.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, pip squeak?" the man yelled indignantly, as he swung around drunkenly.

Dylan looked over to Elijah to gauge his reaction to what had just happened, and was relieved to see the momentary relief and the deep breath that had slipped through the stone mask that he had been wearing. When Elijah opened his eyes back up and saw Dylan looking at him, there was a brief second of a flicker in his eyes, the confusion and defensiveness immediately visible on his face, before it went immediately back to the blank cold he wore like a fashionable scarf.

"Well, it seems to me that he didn't want you touching him," Dylan responded, turning back to the man in front of him with the coldest look he'd ever given anybody. The man might have been towering over him, but he honestly couldn't say he was all that scared of what would happen. Something told him this guy didn't actually have any spine to make him worth anything at the moment. "So, you're _not_ going to be touching him. Is that clear?"

Disgruntled, the man shook his arm out of Dylan's grip, and smoothed the wrinkles in his expensive jacket out, sneering his nose in disgust at the sleeve as if Dylan had left something contagious behind on the sleeve. Of course, he would have money. Probably wasn't used to be told no, either, if that's what had been going on, which Dylan suspected it was. With one final brush of his sleeve, as if to say that they weren't worth his time, the man gave a chilling glare to Elijah and scoffed at Dylan tensed before him, before turning around and walking away while shaking his head in disgust.

Dylan turned back toward Elijah with what can only be described as bright eyes and a small smile on his face, as if this was the happiest he'd been in a while, if ever.

"What the hell do you think you're smiling about, kid?" Elijah questioned, bluntly.

"What are you..." Dylan trailed off, looking at the stare Elijah was giving him, like he was a bug in front of him. Or worse, one on his shoe. "Nothing, I guess. I'm just glad that didn't escalate."

"I mean, I'm not saying I wouldn't have dealt with it if it had, but just, it would have been pointless. You know?" Dylan finished off, trying to regain the smile that he had had before, and trying to provoke one from Elijah as well. He always had been good at making Coop smile, especially when he didn't want to. No one else had been able to do so. But he _always _could. But...nothing.

"I could have handled that," Elijah said, coldly. "I don't need anyone to fight my battles for me. I can take care of myself. Been doing it my whole life, I don't need some idiot who has a "knight in shining armor" complex to swoop in and screw me over more."

Elijah started to walk past him, toward the area where Steve was at the bar, curiously watching them, as if they were the only sense of entertainment in the entire bar.

"Whoa, wait, that's not what I was doing," Dylan breathed out, hurrying after him, while at the same time making sure he wasn't touching him. He wasn't that guy. He wouldn't be that guy. No matter how much he needed Elijah to talk to him. To give him a chance.

"Oh, really?" Elijah said in a superior voice, before turning around and giving him that icy bitch glare that he had perfected every cycle. "Then what exactly was it that you think you were doing, _child_, pray tell?"

"Okay, one, I'm not a child," Dylan said, his irritation rising fast. "And two, I saw that he had grabbed you and wouldn't let go. What was I supposed to do? Ignore it? Turn around and walk away?"

"Yes!" Elijah shouted, moving up into Dylan's face. "That's exactly what you should have done! Who do you think you are that you have any business involving yourself in my life and how I go about it?"

"Oh, well, excuse me, for caring whether or not some ass was manhandling you!" Dylan shouted right back.

"Why the _fuck_ _would_ you care!" Elijah screamed, throwing his hands in the air. "You don't know me from Adam! Just because you have a conscious issue that means you apparently can't mind your own fucking business, doesn't mean I should have to suffer! I'm not some damsel that needs saving. The only thing you stopped was that guy getting a swift knee to what were most assuredly the smallest balls in the bar tonight."

Dylan couldn't keep a smile off his face at this, breaking his resolve, and cracking a grin at that line and the complete seriousness with which Elijah delivered it. Coop was definitely in there. If there had been any doubt before, this eradicated it.

"Why the _fuck_ are you smiling!" Elijah yelled in frustration, not understanding the humor and emotion he had evoked in Dylan by his threats to unman the asshole from earlier. "This might be a joke to you, but this is my life, you jackass!"

"Hey, guys, let's all calm down and take a step back," came Steve's voice from beside them as he apparently decided that they had reached the point where they were no longer idle entertainment and actually a problem for the bar.

"No, you stay the fuck out of it!" Elijah snapped viciously, turning around and poking a finger at Steve's chest, before bringing the finger around and stabbing it repeatedly into Dylan's chest. "And _you_! You pompous, _chivalrous_, big, strong man. I guess, I should thank you, right? Demurely bat my eyes, and look down shyly and in submission, while I laud you on your perfection, because you obviously have no flaws, and then offer to meekly bend my head and open my legs for you? Right? That's what you were expecting, wasn't it?"

"NO, god Elijah, just fucking stop, that never even was a thought in my head," Dylan shouted in exasperation, rolling his eyes at how fast this conversation deteriorated. He should have expected it, honestly. Coop always ran with strong passions, and Dylan, himself, had always been quick to temper. Things that normally shouldn't work as well together as they do, but somehow had fit together for them seamlessly without even trying.

"Don't tell me to fucking _stop_," Elijah raised his voice yet again. "Jesus Christ! You really are a pompous ass, aren't you? First you stick your fat nose where it doesn't belong, and now you're ordering me around. In case you haven't noticed, I happen to have a penis as well. I'm not someone to just be bid around at your wishes."

"Believe me, I know you have a penis," Dylan muttered in chagrin.

"What was that?" Elijah asked, annoyed.

"Nothing," Dylan said, quickly, trying his best to regain some ground in this conversation and steer it back around to normal levels. "Just, can we stop, Elijah, and talk about this?"

"What is there to talk ab-" Elijah started, before narrowing his eyes at Dylan and standing up straighter. "Whoa, whoa, wait. That's twice now you've used my name. How the _fuck_ do you know my name?"

"Who _are_ you?" he spat with venom.

"I...I," Dylan stumbled over what to say, because it wasn't exactly like he could tell him the truth. And he couldn't lie like he had to Steve and say he was a friend. Yeah, because that would go over well. Especially now.

"I'm Dylan," he said, deciding to keep it simple and just go with the obvious truth. "Just someone who saw something that shouldn't be happening and stopped it. It was never my intention to suggest anything about you and your capabilities. I just wouldn't have felt right with myself if I had ignored it, okay?"

"And I know your name because Steve just mentioned it, alright?" Dylan said hesitantly, still unsure if this was the route to go. "We were even talking about you earlier. You are an incredibly talented dancer, you know that? Incredibly. You should know that."

"Oh, and now it all comes together," Elijah muttered sarcastically, trying to recall if Steve _had_ actually mentioned his name or not. He couldn't remember. "There's always an ulterior motive. Of course, there is. You weren't looking out for my well-being. You were looking out for yours. And any possible chances you might have of getting laid tonight. Complementing my dancing isn't going to get you there, if that's what you honestly think."

"Oh, my god, you are such a prima donna," Dylan said exasperatingly, not even paying attention to what he was saying anymore, he was so caught up in the intensity of their conversation. While the topic of discussion might not be familiar at all for them, the bickering wasn't anything new.

"And now we're on to insulting, since we've found out flattery won't get you in my pants," Elijah said mockingly. "Oh joy! Your methods are so new and inventive! Really, you must teach me your ways, as they seem to gain you so much progress."

"I can't even have this conversation with you right now," Dylan said, barely able to restrain his laughter from bubbling out. The funny thing was, that if Dylan didn't know any better, he would say that Elijah was actually enjoying himself. He might be making things up in his head, seeing what he wanted to see, but there was a sparkle and gleam in Elijah's eyes that hadn't been there before. And something told Dylan that this was the most animated Elijah had been in any conversation for a really long time. If ever. And it would make sense.

As much as they had liked their quiet times together, they had often picked fights with each other on purpose just so they could pit themselves against each other. They were such equals. In every aspect. It was like a certifiable battle of wills whenever they did it. And they always purposely riled the other one up just to see how far they could push each other before collapsing into fits of giggles. Or the occasional time where the arguments ended in sex. Those weren't entirely bad either.

"I know you're trying to be cutting and quick, and slay me down to the size you think I deserve, but you're honestly just making me laugh so hard right now that I can barely breath," Dylan tried to finish as calmly as possible, anticipating where this was going already, and not sure whether it was something he was dreading or looking forward to, whether it was something he should put a stop to, or instigate even further.

"And here comes the third tactic," Elijah said fake excitedly. "The cliché line of 'Oh you, stop it, you! You're so funny! How do you even exist? I've never met anyone like you before, and I doubt I ever will again. You're so perfect! Please let me take you home so I can show you just how perfect you really are'."

"Save it, jailbait, I've heard it _all_ before," Elijah said with an attempt at finality. "And it doesn't do anything for me, so it's not going to do anything for you."

"Look," Dylan said, still chuckling from how easily all of this just flowed from Elijah, and always had. "If I promise that that's not why I helped you or why I'm talking to you now, can we move past this?"

"I mean, as nice as I'm sure it would be to get into your pants," he said ironically, slowly trailing his eyes over Elijah's frame. "That's not what my original intention was, believe it or not."

"But it's your intention now?" Elijah pointed out, humorously.

"Not necessarily," Dylan said, playing along. "We'll have to wait and see how the rest of this conversation goes, and you'll have to let me know how well my chances have improved."

"You're awfully sure of yourself for a child," Elijah said amused.

"And once again, I would like to point out that I am not a child," Dylan said, feeling a sense of lightness in his heart, as he was absolutely sure now, without a doubt, that Elijah was playing with him just as much as Dylan was playing with Elijah. They had fallen back into their old pattern of behavior without even trying. "In fact, I am so much _not_ a child, that I'd like to buy you a drink. You know, to prove it to you and all. I mean, obviously I'm old enough to buy you liquor."

"Believe it or not, Prince Charming," Elijah said, still refusing to use his name for some reason. "I am perfectly capable of purchasing and imbibing my own alcohol. It's one of those things that goes along with me being able to take care of myself. And as much as the offer is tempting, I really do need to be going."

"So I'm just going to get my drink and leave you to all the prime, fantastic specimens of male conquests around you," Elijah managed to say with a straight face as he survived the majority of the crowd. Which it seemed mostly consisted of either overweight and balding men, or drunk jackasses that were busy groping their unwilling partners.

"Scared?" Dylan hesitantly asked, unsure what response he was going to get, but within seconds he found out he wasn't to be disappointed.

"Excuse me?" Elijah asked quietly, slowly turning around with one eyebrow raised imperiously.

"I said, are you scared?" Dylan said, this time grinning.

"Never heard the word before," Elijah said, staring at Dylan intently, like a cat does at a mouse it's about to pounce on. "It's not a word in my vocabulary. As I'm well sure you know by now. But that wasn't really what you wanted when you said it, was it? You said it, because you wanted me to prove you wrong. But tell me, why should I feel the need to prove anything to you?"

"I don't know," Dylan said smugly, almost positive that he had Elijah right where he wanted him, and he decided to pull out his piece de resistance, as he leaned forward, invading Elijah's personal space, only hesitating for a second, before seeing Elijah stay perfectly still allowing him in, and then he completely went for it.

He brushed his lips lightly across Elijah's ear, breathing hotly into it for a second, before taking his time to breath in his scent. When he was satisfied and content with his time there, and he had seen a slight quiver in Elijah's frame, he opened his mouth to finish what he had started.

"Maybe, because you want to?" Dylan said softly. Deeply. Drawing the words out and lingering there at his ear, before pulling back slowly, allowing his cheek to graze Elijah's cheek, and his eyes to scan and strip Elijah bare as they met the dark brown lust-blown eyes before him. Something told him his plan had succeeded, as Elijah's eyes narrowed, determination mixing with the lust still present, and suddenly Elijah's arm whipped out roughly grabbing the front of Dylan's shirt and brought him up to his face where Elijah could look him straight in the eyes as he breathed onto his lips, returning the favor no doubt.

"Do I want to?" Elijah said slyly, seeming to debate it with himself for a few minutes. "Well, I don't know, now that you actually asked me. Maybe I'll just have to take you up on that offer of a drink. Or maybe, we should just skip that and hit the dance floor."

"Who knows?" he trailed off, moving his lips to Dylan's ear seductively. "Maybe your moves will impress and seduce me enough that you just _might_ get lucky tonight. Let's go see, shall we?"

"Come on, Dylan," he said, finally using his name for the first time, as he left Dylan behind, walking past him while trailing his hand down his chest and dangerously close to an area that was indecent considering the public space.

"Hey, fake I.D.," Elijah called in a sing-song voice from behind, waiting for Dylan to turn around to look at him, and jerking his head to the side beckoning him toward the dance floor. "Get your tight ass out here and show me why _exactly_ I should be going home with you tonight."


	5. Chapter 5

**Note:** Hey I am so so so sorry for the amount of time it took to update this. It was quite ridiculous, and I am completely at fault. Part of it was a lack of time and other issues, but at the same time I still could have probably updated sooner. So again, I am so sorry. And thanks to anyone who has stuck with me for this long. You are all amazing. I wanted to let you know that I've also uploaded these all to because has been going around deleting M rated fics and I didn't want to take any chances. Anyway, here's the next chapter.

* * *

><p>"<em>Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you, You must be he I was seeking (it comes to me as of a dream) I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you." – Walt Whitman<em>

* * *

><p>Still 1989<p>

* * *

><p>"So what exactly was all that?" Steve finally voiced, throwing the damp towel he'd used on the bar onto the table.<p>

"What exactly was what?" Hera repeated a little distractedly, glancing around the now empty club, still unsure why she hadn't left yet.

"You know, what I'm talking about," Steve continued, putting away chairs he passed on his way to her. "Elijah. And Dylan, Di, whatever his name is…"

"Oh, is that not normal behavior for him?" Hera said, finally giving Steve her attention, intrigued.

"Uh, no," came a bark of laughter in response. "Definitely not. If anything, it's incredibly bizarre…but you weren't surprised, were you?"

"No, actually," Hera paused, fidgeting with the cherry stem she'd tied to her straw. "I wasn't surprised in the slightest. I've gotten used to it over the years."

"Over the years," Steve craned his neck around double-checking what he'd heard. "So they did know each other?"

"No. No they didn't," Hera hastily said, snapping to attention.

She hadn't realized that she'd said that last bit out loud. She needed to be more careful or they were going to have another incident on their hands like back in 1692. And it wasn't going to be as easy to blow over as before.

"Then what did you-" he started before being cut off.

"I just meant, Di," she lied easily enough after all the practice. "He's very charismatic. These things tend to happen. That's all."

"Okay…" Steve puzzled, turning back around. "That being said, it's still quite surprising. Elijah's not the type to flirt with someone he knows, let alone a stranger. And he's certainly never left for the night with one before. Poor Bryan."

"Who?" Hera questioned curiously.

"Bryan," he said, not turning around. "Elijah's…boyfriend. His long-time boyfriend."

"_Shit_," a low whispered curse was heard from behind Steve, before a gust of wind struck him and a very loud and crisp popping noise reverberated through the room, immediately followed by the sound of a toppling chair hitting the ground and continuing to rock.

"What the—" Steve mouthed, turning completely around for the first time since the conversation started, to find a splintered chair on the ground, and Hera nowhere to be seen.

* * *

><p>"Oh, <em>ugh<em>…oops," Elijah giggled as he stumbled through the doorway, Dylan's hands reaching out to steady him for the moment.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Dylan asked worried. "I really didn't think you were this drunk when we left."

"I'm fine," Elijah insisted. "I'm not drunk. Just a little fuzzy. I really don't drink that much."

"So this is where you live?" he continued, circling to survey the room as a whole. "It's nice. Very subtle. But distinct."

"Sure," Dylan silently laughed, not sure Elijah even knew what he was saying.

"Look, I know I said I wanted to talk to you tonight, but I don't think that's going to happen," he said, letting go of Elijah for a second to turn around and deadbolt the door. "I think you just need to go rest. I can put you up in Helen's room if that makes you more…comfort…able."

Dylan didn't get to quite finish what he was saying, because as he turned around Elijah was right in front of him with his shirt already off. He was leaning into him, trapping him on the door by bring his arms up to cage him in.

"You were saying?" Elijah asked amused, not giving him a chance to respond before closing the distance between them by pressing his body up against Dylan's and letting his mouth stray to the tendon on the side of Dylan's neck.

"We…" Dylan faltered through his attempt to keep things less heated. "We really shouldn't be doing this."

"Oh, but we should," Elijah said without stopping his slow descent down Dylan's body, thoroughly kissing each patch of skin he revealed as he unbuttoned Dylan's shirt.

Dylan gasped and jolted when Elijah blew hot air onto his navel, slightly damp from the open-mouthed kisses Elijah had been trailing along there. When Elijah continued further down, tonguing the skin right above his jeans, Dylan finally broke, groaning obscenely, and scrambling to hand onto the doorknob to keep from falling.

"I just…" Dylan started, waiting for Elijah to look up before continuing. "I want you to know, I wasn't expecting this. We didn't have to…"

"I know," Elijah interrupted, with a small smile. "That's why we are."

Dylan tried to surge forward and pull Elijah up to kiss him at that point, because how could he do anything else with that knowing look on his face. But Elijah stopped him, smirking up at the confusion now on Dylan's face.

"Uh, uh, uh," Elijah said mischievously. "I didn't make my way down here _just_ to break you, you know."

"But—"

"No, buts," Elijah considered. "Unless, of course, it's yours turned around for my viewing pleasure."

Smiling, Elijah took advantage of Dylan's nervous spluttering to undo his pants and tug them down slightly.

"Not a kid, huh?" he paused, cocking his head to the side to stare at his underwear.

"Shut up," Dylan laughed. "Batman isn't just a kid's thing."

"If you say so," Elijah teased, running his finger along the edge of the briefs and leaning forward to mouth along the outline of Dylan's cock through the underwear and licking the wet spot now clearly visible, causing Dylan's head to snap back onto the door and groan in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

"If you can't even handle this," Elijah snorted, "How are you going to be able to handle things once the underwear comes off?"

"I don't really think the underwear should be coming off at all," a stern voice from behind said.

"Hera!" Dylan shouted in outrage, scrambling to pull his pants back up over his underwear. "What the hell do you think you're doing? I thought we agreed you'd be going back to Thena's tonight so Elijah and I could talk."

"You're sure doing a lot of talking," she said with one eyebrow raised, challenging Di with her eyes.

"Yeah, that's not the point," he said, not backing down, even with the inner urge to relinquish authority her stare was causing.

"My question," Elijah, now standing up, said slowly, choosing carefully what he said. "Is how in the world you are even here in the first place? You sure didn't come through that front door. We were kind of just up against it."

"It's a long story," she said avoiding the question. "It wouldn't be very interesting anyway."

"The hell it wouldn't be—" he started.

"Elijah," she said in an echoing tone that had an almost ethereal quality to it. "I think it's time for you to leave."

"No, Hera," Dylan said frantically. "What do you think you're doing?"

Meanwhile, Elijah was buttoning his shirt back up and gathering his things almost as if on autopilot. Dylan needed to do something fast or he would be out the door within seconds. And knowing Hera, he probably wouldn't even remember tonight's events at all. He couldn't afford that.

"Stop it, Hera!" he finally screamed, his voice cracking, making Hera flinch out of her trance and take in what was happening. Her hold on Elijah snapped almost immediately, and he looked around confused.

"When did you get here, Helen?" Elijah asked curiously.

"Why?" Dylan sobbed quietly. "Why, after all this time? I finally found—I finally got here. Why are you taking it away from me?"

"I'm sorry," Hera said in shock, more to herself than to them. "I don't know what happened. I just…I was angry. And I was trying to stop you. And the power just took over. I…that hasn't ever happened. Not since…before."

"What's going on?" Elijah finally asked, staring at both of them as if they had recently escaped a mental hospital.

"Nothing," Dylan said calm again, quickly trying to come up with a way to explain this, but Hera came to his rescue.

"I'm so sorry for barging in like this," she jumped back into the conversation. "I know it's not exactly proper etiquette. I couldn't not come though."

"Why?" Dylan asked, exasperated.

"Elijah knows," Hera looked pityingly over at him, making Elijah nervous.

"I honestly have no clue what she's talking about," he said, sure that he was right.

"Okay, fine, I'll be the bad guy. It's nothing new for me," she said, taking a deep breath. "You can't sleep with him. Elijah's not available. He has a boyfriend. One that, if I'm not mistaken, is probably waiting up for him right now, wondering where he is tonight."

"Bryan," Elijah whispered. "I—she's right."

"You're involved with someone," Dylan said, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice, "and you came here with me anyway?"

"I—yeah," Elijah faltered under the look Dylan was giving him, as if he didn't know him at all, which was absurd, because he didn't. "I guess I did."

"You forgot about him, didn't you?" Hera realized as she stared at the inner turmoil written all over his face.

"To be honest, I had," Elijah said in disgust. "That sounds so cold, but until you brought it up, I hadn't even thought about him. I—that's not me."

"I might be distant and reserved at all times. And I might not be in love with him. But I protect him," he said firmly. "Even from myself if that's what it takes. I swore I would never hurt him the way others had hurt me. And this is just not me. I'm not a cheater."

"We know," both Dylan and Hera slipped and said at the same time, looking over at each other.

"Wait, where are you going?" Dylan said surprised, following him to the door.

"I need to leave," Elijah said, as though it was obvious. "I don't know what just happened. I don't know what this is. What it means. Or will or whatever. Honestly, I don't know anything right now. But I _do_ know that, regardless of all this, Bryan deserves better than this."

"You're right," Dylan acknowledged, very resigned. "I—okay let me show you out."

"I know the way," Elijah replied, amused. "It's just some stairs. I'll…I'll get in touch with you. Sometime. Soon."

"Yeah," Dylan whispered, sure that that was never going to happen.

"Goodbye," Elijah hesitated, taking one last curious look at Dylan's face before turning around and walking out the door, down the stairs, and out of the apartment building, without once looking back.

"Goodbye," Dylan finally voiced to an empty doorway, long after Elijah had disappeared.

* * *

><p>"What is wrong with me?" Elijah said shaking his head and beating himself up now that he was several blocks away.<p>

_How do you forget someone you've been with for three years? And better yet, how do you end up going home with a complete stranger. He could have been a serial killer. This doesn't make any sense. And where the hell did that woman come from? There had been no one in the apartment when they got there. _

Elijah couldn't figure any of it out. He passed his reflection in a shop window, and realized why he had been so cold. He must have left his jacket at the club. Either that, or back at Dylan's. And there was no way he was going back for that.

Sighing, he turned left instead of right at the next block to head back to the club. Even if Steve wasn't there, he'd be able to get in. He'd had a set of keys for years now. There was no way he could go back home just yet regardless of the jacket. He was a mess. Physically and mentally. Bryan would know something was wrong.

_Know something was wrong? Of course, he would. Because you're telling him. You can't not tell him. Wait for the right time, sure. Maybe. No. You're telling him. You can't put this off._

He got to the side door of the club and let himself in finding it empty and bare. Steve was already gone. That was probably a good thing. It gave him time to think. To work things out in his head, so that Bryan wasn't subjected to this mess anymore than he had to be.

He took one of the chairs stacked at the bar down and sat down. Maybe he'd poor himself a drink. Steve wouldn't mind. No, that's probably what got him into this mess in the first place. Wasn't it? He stared out at the dance floor trying to remember how he went from harmlessly flirting and teasing Dylan to almost sucking his cock.

He remembered dance after dance interspersed with the occasional drink. They'd talked. If you could call it that. What little could be heard over the roar of people around him had just been playful jibes and quips. When did it all change?

_I feel so untouched and I want you so much that I just can't resist you. It's not enough to say that I miss you. I feel so untouched right now, need you so much somehow. I can't forget you, been going crazy from the moment I met you._

That had to be it. Elijah jumped up and started to pace trying to remember. That song, whatever it was, that was the last thing he remembered being played before they left. Before they started getting too close for their own good. Before he had actually felt like he cared about Dylan and what he thought of him. Before he had wanted to leave with him.

He kept flashing back to glimpses of the night dancing under the strobing lights to the hectic beat in the club, the whole while that song kept going through his head. _I'll never ever let you leave me. I'll try to stop time for ever, never want to hear you say goodbye._ So he'd pinpointed when he'd lost his damn mind, but he still no had clue as to why.

Groaning, he scrubbed his hands over his face trying to jostle something out of there. He'd never heard the song before. There should be no reason why it stuck with him. Or why it induced temporary insanity. And now he was just being ridiculous. The song had nothing to do with it. He'd needed to forget the song. The song was pointless, wasn't it? It had nothing to do with what had happened, or what he needed to figure out. It was going to be stuck in his head for days though, he could already tell it. Damn it.

He looked down at his watch and saw the time, immediately cursing. It was after three in the morning. He needed to be getting back. Bryan was probably worried sick. And he didn't need that on top of everything else this evening. Sighing, he grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, locking it behind him, and continuing back the way he'd come.

Walking alone on empty Brooklyn streets wasn't something he was entirely used to, but he appreciated it in this moment. It was the type of peace that his mind lacked and honestly, it was nice. It allowed for a breath. A chance to tilt his head back and look at the stars. Something he hadn't done in years. They were still so small. And so was he. _I guess that's the one thing that didn't change._

It was so quiet on the streets. Too quiet. Elijah didn't even hear the normal arguments inside the apartments he passed, or the noises of the city from afar. He kept looking back over his shoulder from a most likely absurd suspicion that there was someone there. Following him. But he was wrong. No one was ever there. At least not behind him. The same couldn't be said for in front of him as he turned the corner.

Inwardly groaning, Elijah crossed the street to the other side and picked up his pace when he saw a group of drunken idiots up ahead of him. He was minding his own business, there should be no reason why they couldn't return the favor.

"Hey, that's him!" he heard a familiar voice shout from the group.

Shit. It was the man that had hit on him at the bar. Great, he was going to be hassled again. Why couldn't people just take no for an answer.

As they started to head in his direction, the looks on their faces made Elijah rethink what exactly he was about to deal with. They weren't coming over here to sexually harass him. The guy probably hadn't even been gay. They were going to beat the shit out of him. He knew it already. That's why the guy had been so insistent on him leaving the club with him. Upon this realization he took off running.

He only had six more blocks till he got home. He could outrun them. He couldn't take them in a fight, but whereas they were built, he was lanky, he could make it. But what if he didn't? What if he got home at the same time as them? He'd be leading them right to Bryan. Then he'd be in danger too.

He slowed down. Already deciding what he needed to do. They were a block behind him. He could have kept going and been safe. But how important was that really.

"What did you grow a backbone faggot?" one of them slurred. "Not scared anymore, huh? We'll see about that."

The next few moments were tuned out in Elijah's mind. He felt the blows to his face and his stomach. He heard the insults and taunts as if a vibration. Not registering what they were saying but their intent. He steeled himself throughout. Just trying to make it through. Eventually they would get whatever pent up aggression and rage they had toward him out, and they would stop. Or pass out. Whichever came first.

They couldn't keep this up forever. He just had to outlast them. He didn't even register that he was curled up on the wet pavement in a seedy alley lying in his blood. He didn't register anything. At least until he was shocked back into consciousness when a metal pipe connected with the soft area of his abdomen.

He gasped out loud, curling farther inward and flailing his arms around to cover his head. If they were going to start using that, there was no way to just wait it out. Not safely. He was screwed, wasn't he?

Apparently they had realized that they had gotten his attention again, and laughing, one of the bigger ones grabbed him by his ankles to drag him away from the wall. Away from the small amount of protection he had.

Elijah felt hit after hit from the pipe on his ribs and his back. They even managed to get one onto his jaw between the cracks of his arms. He knew he had several broken ribs and his jaw to contend with at the very least. He wouldn't be surprised if there were more serious injuries though, he thought, as he coughed up blood.

Eventually they got bored with hitting him and sat back to watch him moan and try and move, kicking him back down every time he managed to make some progress.

Early morning traffic started to trickle by on the street beside them. It was still dark outside, but one of the more sober assholes noticed after a while, and did his best to pick up his buddies from the ground. He was able to herd them off toward wherever they were supposed to be so that they wouldn't be noticed when the area became busier, but not before the group was able to get off one last shot by throwing their empty beer bottles at him. Some of them just hitting and bouncing off, but a few of them breaking and scattering over him.

Well, this night had just been fantastic. He wasn't dead. Every body part was throbbing and the pool of blood around him looked like something out of a movie, but he wasn't dead. He just had to wait till daylight. Someone would see him. He'd get help. Soon. He just had to wait.

He managed to get himself back over to the wall, and leaned his side against it. It wasn't much support, but it was the best he could manage. There was no way he was getting up and walking away this minute.

He heard cans rattle behind from something farther into the alley. Great, rats, just what he needed right now.

Only it wasn't rats. It was a woman. Not like any he'd ever seen before. She looked like she had come out of _Xena_. There was no way she was from New York. Even with how eccentric people tended to dress here. Maybe she was here for a comic-con.

She looked familiar though. And that was what was incredibly strange. That was the third time tonight that he had seen a complete stranger and still somehow felt they were familiar. This didn't make any sense. But he wasn't going to complain if it meant someone finding him sooner.

"Help," he tried to make his voice loud enough for her to hear, to get her attention. Though he needn't have bothered with that, because from the look of things she had already seen him and was heading in his direction the entire time.

"Help?" she said, as if they were having a chat about the weather, and not about him bleeding on the ground. "But why would I do that?"

"What, little one, have you ever done for me?" she asked, as she finally reached him and kneeled down to his level.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," Elijah stammered.

"No, you don't," she tilted her head, "But you will."

And with that a knife seemed to come out of nowhere, only it wasn't like any knife he'd ever seen. Before he could even protest, she had plunged it into his stomach, and twisted it several times.

"Why?" Elijah screamed in agony.

"That's right, I forgot," she said bemused. "You wouldn't know. Don't worry, this should help with that."

And before she even finished her sentence she ripped the blade back out in the most painful way she could manage.

The minute the blade was pulled from his body he was swarmed with memories that weren't his. Couldn't be his. Information he could have never hoped to possess. A feeling of identity with a person that he wasn't. But as more and more rushed back, he realized that they were his. That all of this was him. He finally remembered. He knew. Everything. Just in time to die. But that was how it worked wasn't it?

If a god wasn't a participant in the rite that Hades performed on them each cycle in his attempt to help them any way he could, then they would live out the rest of their cycle unaware. Until their dying moments.

"You," he managed to get out even with the blood pouring out of his mouth.

"Me," she said with pride.

"You can't though," he spat out with blood. "You're not allowed."

"I don't think you're in a position to tell me what I'm allowed to do," she said enjoying this moment more and more as time passed.

"They'll find out," he said with finality. "That it was you. That it's been you all along, hasn't it?"

"You always were the smart one," she said looking down at him with no remorse or pity. "But I think I'm safe. You certainly won't be telling any tales. And even if you do get your memories back next cycle, you won't remember this one. Traumatic experiences are the one thing that's spared from you unfortunately."

"So, how exactly are you going to stop me again?" she laughed. "You know, I should just finish you off. Slit your throat. Be on my merry way. But where would be the fun in that? You get to suffer more this way. So enjoy."

She wiped he blade off on his jacket before slipping it back in her belt. Standing up, she gave one last glance to him before mockingly bowing to him, and turning on her heel away. She didn't even make it to the end of the alley before a gust of wind blew by and she disappeared into a mist and then thin air.

Right. So, so much for waiting out the night and getting help. Blood was literally pouring from his stomach and his jacket wasn't any good at stopping it. And he had almost chocked on his blood three times now. There was no daylight for him.

That was fine. He couldn't really feel the pain anymore anyway. It was more of an inconvenience with the blood sticking to him now. He slipped down the wall and laid completely on the ground. This angle was better. Easier. He could just close his eyes. And make it even easier. Especially since when he closed his eyes he saw Di. And that made everything better.

"Di…"

* * *

><p>"Something's wrong," Dylan jolted up from the couch, where he and Hera had been watching a VHS.<p>

"What do you mea—" she didn't even get to finish before he had vanished with a pop causing the papers on the coffee table to be blown onto the floor.

"Well, that's just great," she sighed, before mentally tracking Di and following him in the same manner.

When Hera rematerialized beside Di, she wasn't expecting to find him making inhuman noises over a prone body. He had blood dripping all over him from when he had grabbed Elijah and held him to himself.

She tried to drag Di away from the body but he kept swatting her away. She knew what he was going to try to do, and she had to stop him. It wasn't going to work. There was too much blood. He was too far gone. Hera remembered the last time she's seen Coop like this, and he'd been too gone then too. She hadn't been able to save him.

Di wouldn't listen to her though. He barricaded himself around the body so she couldn't take it away from him, and he brought his hands to Elijah's chest, chanting for all he was worth, his hands starting to emit a strange blue glow.

"Πάρτε ό, τι έχει τελειώσει και το μεταρρυθμίσουμε. Φέρτε πίσω ό, τι έχει πάει και να το επανεκκινήσετε," he said in a creepily booming voice.

"Di, you can't," Hera tried to get through to him. "It won't work."

"Shut up!" he screamed. "Shut up! Shut up! Θεραπεύστε."

"Θεραπεύστε," he sobbed. "Θεραπεύστε. Θεραπεύστε!"

"Di, you have to stop," she said kneeling down next to him to try and reason with him. He wasn't listening to her. "You're killing yourself. You don't have enough power to bring him back. Neither of us do. You're just draining yourself. And prolonging his pain."

"I have to try, Hera," he said. "I have to try."

Giving in to his determination, Hera rested her hand on his back and her head on his shoulder. She would be there when he was done. She would make sure he didn't kill himself. If he needed to put himself through this, so be it.

"Di?" they both heard weakly from below them, shocking them both into looking toward Elijah.

"Coop? Is that you?" Di said hesitantly. "You remember?"

"Yeah," he choked out more blood. The blood that Di had just managed to restart. "What do you think you're doing, Di?"

"Healing you," Di said refusing to look at Coop's face.

"No, you're not," he said, trying to get his attention back. "You brought me back. But you can't keep me. You don't have enough power. Even with Hera. The last time we managed something like this, it took all of us."

"I'm going," he whispered, ignoring Di's sob of denial. "You know, I am."

"No," he repeated, refusing to admit what all three of them already knew.

"Di…" Coop smiled when Di finally looked over at him. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for!" he said shocked.

"Okay, fine," Coop laughed painfully, gasping and grabbing the jacket over his stomach from the pain. "I'm not sorry. Is that better?"

Di snorted miserably. This was no time for joking.

"I love you," Coop said without hesitation causing Di to look up at him again with a tainted smile.

"I love you too," Di whispered. "So much. More than you'll ever know."

He bent down to kiss Coop's forehead and rest his head there for whatever time they had left.

"Di—" Elijah gasped. "There's something—tell you—"

"What?" Di asked miserably, hating to see him in pain. "What is it?"

"She's—" Coop trailed off. Di shook him back to consciousness for a second. "She—did this—back—stop—control—love you."

And with that he was gone. No matter how many times Di shook him, he didn't come back this time. Hera eventually was able to drag him away from the body and held him, rocking him right there in the alley. He sounded like a wounded animal. It was the most heartbreaking sound she'd ever heard. And she's heard plenty of them.

"Did you happen to get any of that?" she finally asked. "What he said?"

"No, not really," he said in a monotone. "I got that he loved me. And something about a she. I don't really know what it means though."

"Me neither," she replied. "That's what worries me."

* * *

><p>Shuddering and gasping awake, he bolted upright in his bed his hand immediately reaching for his stomach expecting to come back with blood. But nothing. He was drenched in sweat, but there were goose bumps all over his body as if he was cold. This made no sense. It had felt so real. But it couldn't be. He couldn't even remember half the dream now. And the more he thought about it, the more it faded away. He didn't even know who those people were supposed to be. Why was his subconscious always so fucking violent and insane. He swore it was out to get him sometimes.<p>

Sighing, he reached behind him to rearrange his pillow, flipping over to the side to lay back down. Kurt glanced over to the clock and saw it was almost five in the morning. Great. Well there went his last couple of hours of sleep before school. Groaning, he flopped back into the bed and closed his eyes.


End file.
